


Contra Check, Please

by flandersmare



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic), Strictly Come Dancing RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternative Meeting, Dancing, Found Family Feels, Multi, Professional 'Done with this industry's double standards' Alicia, Professional Dancer Bitty, Professional Hockey Player Jack, Professional supportive husband/father Bob, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, Strictly come dancing au, biological family feels, do not do drugs kids, shitty knight is in this fic what do you expect?, so much dancing, there's a dog because let's face it it's me writing this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2018-12-25 19:30:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 35,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12042705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flandersmare/pseuds/flandersmare
Summary: Eric Bittle signed up for this because it would be a fantastic opportunity to further his career, open up so many new possibilities and because Lardo was holding Senor Bunny hostage until he agreed.Alicia Zimmermann signed up for this because it would give her career a new lease of life, she was sick to death of being passed over for projects and because she wanted to do something for herself for a change.Jack Zimmermann hadn't signed up for any of this.Neither had 'Bad Bob' Zimmermann. But he wasn’t giving up his ringside seat for love or money.A Strictly Come Dancing/Dancing With The Stars AU that no one asked for. Eric and Jack meet through competitive/reality TV show. But Jack is not the celebrity competitor; Alicia is.





	1. Lace up your dancing shoes

**Author's Note:**

> Written because this AU sucker punched me out of nowhere a while back and hasn't left me alone since. Please be patient with me, I'm a Brit, and our Strictly Come Dancing is a little different from Dancing With The Stars as far as I can tell. Also, the cast is going to have a few names and faces who are no longer part of the Strictly set up here in the UK but they are all part of the show that I know and love.
> 
> In Memory of Sir Bruce Joseph Forsyth CBE, 1928 - 2017.  
> "Didn't he do well?"

If anyone had thought to ask the right questions around a certain neighbourhood of Madison, Georgia, everyone could tell you the same thing. Up until three years ago, three things came out of the Bittle household with regularity; the drift of music, the smell of baking and, on most days, a smiling blonde haired boy. 

Usually at speed. 

Eric Bittle still barrels out of his front door in the same manner, only now there’s a scowl and a string of low muttered cursing at his own inability to follow a schedule. He snarls when the sleeve of his half-on jacket gets shut in the door and slams to the door a little harder than he meant to on Lardo’s yelled ‘Good luck!’ 

It was all her fault anyway, he reminded himself as he hurtled down the staircase. He bounced off the wall as he hurled himself around a couple canoodling on a landing and did his best to make it down to street level without actually falling. 

He made to out onto the sidewalk without sustaining major injury and joined the flow of foot traffic, trying to eek himself along faster than the herd really wanted to allow him. He shimmied through the crowd, ignoring any noises of discontent he left in his wake and dove for the stairs to the subway. Once again, his jacket sleeve got caught in the car doors. 

Eric sighed and let his head thunk against the door window. He managed to get a seat once the doors released at the next stop, throwing himself down with a force that drew looks. He scowled a little more and pulled his messenger bag into his lap to hide behind. 

Brooklyn to Manhattan. Plenty of time to calm his nerves, go over his notes and continue cursing out Lardo in the privacy of his own head. 

It was all her fault. 

And he’d take a bullet for his partner, but sometimes he really considered glueing all his best friend’s shampoo bottles shut. 

But he really wouldn’t’ be here without her. 

In New York. 

In the national and international rankings. 

And in demand. 

Eric Richard Bittle, currently wishing he’d thought to grab a coffee this morning, is a professional dancer. Those sunny days in Madison had seen him grow and compete his way through the Petite, Junior, Teen, Senior, and Adult categories. He’d taken first Madison, then Georgia, then the South, then the Nationals and made them his own. 

He’d been Youth National Number 1 and two time USA Ballroom Champion, Latin finalist on three occasions and won a dozen International Open titles. And he couldn’t have done it without his partner of nearly 3 years, Larissa Duan. 

Apart from the fact that the pair are both pocket sized in comparison to everyone else when they step out onto a competition floor, the fact that the pair work as well as they do is incredible. The elegance and glamour of ballroom is Eric’s bread and butter, whereas Larissa has always favoured the punch and flare in Latin. Eric had a somewhat relaxed and responsive training style and Larissa would most likely make drill sergeants nervous. And would most likely have impressed Katya, Eric’s old ice skating coach if Eric was ever unlucky enough to have the pair of them in the same room. But the pair of them worked, as their string of titles and awards could testify. 

And she is the best friend Eric has ever had the privilege to make. 

She was the one who pushed for moving to New York. Who got him into the musical theatre choreography scene. Who nodded encouragingly when Eric started thinking aloud about dabbling in acro and hip-hop and aerial silks. 

He knew he had talent, but he knew he owed her a lot. 

And she owed him a hell of a lot for getting him embroiled in this mess. 

Lardo applied ‘Dancing With The Stars’ on a whim last year. Eric had done himself a mischief and sustained a lower back injury that had kept him out the studio for weeks. He could still teach a bit and choreograph but he was next to useless to her so she’d looked for ways to entertain herself while he healed. The show had snapped her up for the season and it was like she’d contracted a bug. Eric had weathered months of her raving and ranting about the show, her partner, the routines, the other professionals. Unusually face down on her bed in their shared flat while Eric went about fixing her nightly prescription of a sweet tea and gummy bears with a hot water bottle clamped to his back. 

Lardo and her partner, an actor that had made a name for himself in musical theatre but was now a little too old to play ‘the hero’ roles, had ended up in the middle of the field, but she’d still been involved in the professional dances. She’d even picked Eric’s brain for choreography for a number or two. 

It’s now a year later, preparations for this year’s show are starting to fall into place, he’s fighting fit and Lardo had slid a filled in application form in front of him to sign. 

And she held Señor Bunny hostage until he signed. 

Not that Eric had really fought it at the time. He was convinced he’d have no chance really. And now, a month and a half and a few hours later, he’s walking away from a meeting at ABC’s New York studio, having had a somewhat painless meeting with Producer Hall and Assistant Producer Murray, with a copy of a signed contract and NDA in his bag, a few units of caffeine in his bloodstream and the knowledge that he’s now part of this season’s line up for Dancing With The Stars. 

Yup. 

All Lardo’s fault. 

***

Alicia Zimmermann closed down her emails and rubbed a hand over her eyes. She’d had a few minutes to calm down and now guilt was chewing at her gut.

She should not have lost her temper at Camilla. It wasn’t her fault; she was just the unfortunate soul who was always in the vicinity when this sort of news came through. She lifted her phone off her desk and tapped out a quick text. 

_Can you come in here please? I need to apologise._

Alicia had just about enough time to think about what she was going to say before there was a gentle tapping at the study door. 

‘Come in.’ Alicia knew Camilla wasn’t a woman to be coddled but she did her best to keep her voice low and soothing, even if the metaphorical spooked horse in this situation was herself. 

The mass of golden curls appeared in the widening gap between the door and a pair of shyly smiling honey brown eyes appear just below. Camilla edged in, a mug of something steaming gently clutched between her palms and she held it out in front of her like a peace offering. Alicia wanted to curl up and wilt. 

‘Millie, you shouldn’t have-’ 

‘Lemon tea with a shot of cider Ma’am.’ 

Alicia sagged back in her seat, looking up in wonder at the young woman. ‘Have I given you a raise recently? Remind me to give you a raise.’ 

Camilla’s smile just widened and became less brittle as Alicia took the mug, inhaling a good lungful of the vapours before taking a swig. Alicia savoured the bite of the lemon and cider for a moment before wordlessly gesturing for Camilla to take the seat across from her. 

‘Millie, I am so, so sorry about my outburst earlier.’ 

‘It’s alight.’ 

‘No,’ Alicia said, firmly. ‘No it wasn’t. It was the height of unprofessionalism and you shouldn’t have had to experience it.’ Alicia sighed again, meeting Camilla’s eyes with a shamed expression. ‘I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I promise.’ 

Camilla waved a hand airily and Alicia worried, not for the first time, that the millennials were letting too much slide to ensure they stayed employed. 

‘OK, it’s not alright,’ Camilla admitted, ‘but it’s not unfounded.’ She waved her hand at the few letters on Alicia’s desk and the monitor of her computer. Alicia sighed and rubbed a hand over her eyes. ‘This,’ Camilla said, indicating the letters saying they are ‘taking the project in another direction’, the emails saying they are ‘looking for a younger face for the range’, the phone messages tentative asking if she would consider being the face of this or that anti-aging treatment. ‘This sucks.’ 

‘Anti-aging,’ Alicia scoffed. ‘There is no such damn thing. Time passes, you age. That stuff in wrinkle treatment, not the elixir of life!’ 

‘This sucks,’ Camilla repeated. ‘I’m sorry this is happening. You are more than entitled to be angry.’ 

‘I’m not entitled to take it out on you though.’ 

‘You just yelled a little. You’re scarier when Jack’s on the ice to be honest.’ Camilla shrugged. ‘It’s not worth a mention on social media,’ she chuckled, ‘you didn’t even throw your phone at me!’ 

Alicia fixed Camilla with a stern glare, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the desk top and pointing a threatening finger at her. ‘The moment I become a spoilt, conceited, stroppy little diva, you have my permission, no, my insistence, to throw something back. Something sharper.’ 

Camilla snorted. ‘No fear, I’ll just go get Bob. But seriously,’ Camilla sighed and gave Alicia a look that was 1 part sympathy and 2 parts outraged on Alicia’s behalf. ‘This is bullshit. Hollywood’s favourite leading men are getting older yet their love interests are young enough to be their daughters. And the business normalises it. Which is just damn creepy.’ Camilla’s face twitched as she tried to hide the curling of her lip. ‘And in the meantime, you, with acting chops that could fell a small forest, are being passed over for ‘mother roles’ and, to be honest, I’ve been half-heartedly weeding out the ‘witch roles’.’ 

Alicia sighed and her hands tightened around the gradually cooling ceramic. ‘It’s what happens when you are over the horizon of 50.’ 

‘It’s bullshit.’ 

Alicia quirked a fond smile at Camilla’s vehement expression. ‘I can only hope I can join the ranks of Thompson, Pfeiffer, Streep and Close and the like.’ 

‘Oh come on! You are already in that league,’ Camilla said flapping a hand. ‘If they were the Pink Ladies, they’d have the jacket ready with your name on it.’ 

Alicia snorted. ‘That’s very kind of you.’ She sighed once again and tried not to notice the worry on Camilla’s face. ‘Maybe it’s time to retire this,’ she said, waving a hand in front of her face and giving into a rare moment of melancholy. ‘Focus on the causes more.’ 

‘Not that I am dismissing your truly amazing charity work,’ Camilla said, ‘but you belong on stage, on screen and on the run way. Exiling yourself to a boardroom?’ Camilla pulled a face that would have you thinking Alicia had asked the question ‘What’s so great about breathing?’ ‘That would be criminal. That would be on par with taking Orcas out of the ocean and sticking them in SeaWorld.’ 

Alicia winced. ‘Remind me to get that email off to WCD.’ 

Camilla cocked an eyebrow. ‘My point is that you are a long, long way from being put out the pasture. Long, long way off. If it ever comes.’ She smiled softly and leaned forwards, resting one elbow on her crossed knees. ‘We just need to find a project deserving of you.’ 

Alicia tried to quash to bitter laugh and it makes it out as a huff as she let her head thunk against the top of the chair back. ‘Really?’ she asked the ceiling. ‘Simple as that?’ 

‘Something will come up,’ Camilla protested, half a second before Alicia’s phone pinged with an email alert at the same moment it appeared in her inbox on her computer screen. Alicia rolled her head, finding the sender to be no name she recognised and returned her dispassionate gaze to the ceiling. Camilla held her breath for a moment, jiggling ever so slightly up and down in her seat. ‘So… Aren’t you going to read that?’ 

Alicia blinked balefully at her. She felt a little thwarted, it was very, very rare she felt sorry for herself and she could feel the despondency building. She intended to sulk for a day or so and then start bashing heads. She looked from Camilla’s pointed expression to her computer monitor. It’s from an ‘Iain Murray, AD’ and the subject line just read ‘DWTS enquiry’. 

Alicia sighed and opened the message, reading it aloud. ‘Dear Ms Zimmermann, thank you very much for your correspondence and your interest in the project. I am delighted to say that we are indeed looking for celebrities to participate in this sea… son…’ Alicia's eyes went wide in her face. 

‘Yes?’, Camilla prompted, all but climbing onto the desk to see the computer screen. 

‘What did you do?’ 

The strange note in Alicia's voice combined with her staring eyes sent Camilla hurtling back into her seat. 

‘Umm… Well… You did kick me out for 45 minutes and I got thinking…’ 

Alicia turned back to the screen, swallowing, her throat clicking, and continued reading. ‘This season of… ‘ _Dancing With The Stars_ ’.’ She read on, eyes skimming over projected dates and a little of the legal obligations. She could send that along to B. 

She blinked. Why had she thought about sending it along to B? She hadn’t said ‘yes’ yet? 

But, she thought as she continued to both read and be oblivious to the fact that Camilla had her fingers in her mouth, why not? She knows DWTS is something special, especially in the realm of reality TV. And so many previous contestants had benefited from the exposure. Her eyes skittered over the proposed dates. There’s nothing in her calendar that can't be factored in or worked around. It would bleed into Jack’s pre-season games and, depending on how long she lasted, the first half of the season. She pushed down the cold and constant ebb of worry and heartache that came with thinking about her baby; he said he was able to play better when she and Bob weren’t there anyway. She'd be learning new skills. New skills that wouldn’t look too shabby on the CV. 

And she’d be doing something for herself for a change. 

She typed out a quick message confirming she’d be there for a screen test and meeting next week in New York and hit send before she could think too hard about it. 

Yes. She needed to give Camilla a raise. And maybe more paid holiday. 

Once she stops the high pitched noises of delight and clapping, she just asks if Alicia could get Kristina Rihanoff’s number.


	2. And Grab Your Partner

Alicia had never attended a red carpet event quite like it. 

She had attended more than she cared to think about and certainly more than she cared to remember. There were a few red carpet nights, where she’d been young and skittish and before she’d met Bob, that she wanted expunging from her brain with industrial strength bleach. 

But every time before this, she’d step foot onto the red carpet and would weather the questions and comments about what she’d done with the project; be it a fashion line, a film, a stage production. And now she’s here, surrounded by the sparkle of sequins, the flash of cameras and the mixed clamour of voices and music, and she was a blank slate. 

She couldn’t deny, the show had a following. A truly terrifying following. The sort of following that could divide a family down the middle of the living room. When her name had been announced to the public, there had been an immediate spike in interest. Her Google search count had jumped, her IMDb page was being visited and tweaked.

Camilla had set her up a Twitter account.

Alicia had refrained for years and Camilla had set one up for her while her back was turned.

But this was insanity. She’d emerged from a giant glitter ball at the top of a set of stairs, her and her celebrity compatriots, and they’d all stepped cautiously down the stairs like they were little woodland creatures being released into the wild. Each of them had been swept along in the tide, circling and smiling. 

Some handling it more than others. 

This year’s crop was quite the medley. Alicia was mollified to know she wasn’t the oldest competitor. Alright, she was the eldest woman but she was going to take her small victories where she could. She read the other contestants’ histories as they orbited around; the athletes a little awkward in front of the lens, the presenters and anchors looking down the barrel of cameras, actors never letting the smile slip. If the celebrities had been

If the celebrities had been captive-reared creatures feeling grass under their feet for the first time, the professional dancers were wild born. The questions had been called a halt to and the celebrities had been shepherded to the end of the carpet, out of harm’s way. The beat had struck up and there, in the middle of the red carpet, 15 young, lithe bodies flittered and flurried to the music. It had the same sort of writhing, barely controlled beauty of a murmuration of starlings, and all the while Olly Murs’ [_Dance with Me Tonight_  ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F3EG4olrFjY)played. Bodies whirled, limbs punching from the mass with every beat. Every now and again a woman would be launched into the air.

Alicia swallowed with a click.

She was supposed to get mixed up in that?

***

Lardo was half certain her fingers at this stage were white Eric was holding onto her hand that tightly.

‘Bits, calm down,’ she murmured. ‘They are not going to eat you.’

Eric just jostled the pie boxes in his other arm so they created a more substantial shield in front of him. If they were going to eat him, they were at least going to have the pies as appetisers.

Lardo just shook her head and grinned as they crunched up the gravel drive to the large, stately house, leaving the relative safety of the taxi behind. The first rehearsal, where Eric would meet the other professionals for the first time and they all would meet the celebrities, was being held in a ballroom of a Westchester mansion. He tucked in behind Lardo, hiding behind her smaller frame as best he could as she towed him along.

She didn’t give him any warning; one minute she was shouldering her way through a doorway and the next, Eric was blinking in the face of Natalie Lowe’s brilliant smile. Lardo didn’t let him hide; they dumped their bags and boxes, she wretched his jacket off his shoulders, shoved his shoes into his arms and propelling him into the centre of the room. Eventually, the nervousness dissipated and Eric was soon all smiles and southern charm. Lardo thought Karen Cliffton may have pinched his cheeks.

She ended up steering him towards the other, younger professionals. They’d all started together the previous season when a lot of the old guard had retired or moved on. They hadn’t changed; as they approached William and Derek were still bickering and Caitlin and Chris were still disgustingly besotted with each other. They just about had time to exchange smiles, handshakes and preferred nicknames, before April and March arrive.

The presenters of Dancing With The Stars.

April Showers and March Hare.

Yes. Yes, those are their names.

And Eric thought that they couldn’t be better named.

March is all smiles and the sort of energy that bordering on a sugar high. April is quieter but so deadpan in her delivery that Eric finds himself smothering sniggers in Lardo’s shoulder. The two women welcome them all for the cameras, a special welcome to Eric as the new dancer that had him pinking and ducking to escape Brendon Cole’s jovial noggie. He feels like the new kid at school, as they stand there in front of the curtain their future partners’ were hiding behind. He’s a swirling ball of nerves. There was this day for the producers to watch them all, to hash out the potential pairings before the live opening show and for them all to practice the number that they will be performing on the night. There’s going to be a medley of steps and styles, a few choice lifts and all the while the celebrities would be passing through the professionals like fireflies in a storm.

What’s it going to be like? Who’s he going to be paired with?

And, as the first ankles started to appear from under the rising curtain, is it too late to opt out?

***

Alicia tried not to twist her fingers in the material of her robin egg blue ballroom gown as she stood under the show lights. March stood beside her asking who she’d like to be paired with. Alicia looked across at the almost full roster of young men; Pasha Kovalev had already been snapped up by a shy television presenter. If such an oxymoron existed.

Objectively Alicia knew she wasn’t old enough to be their mother, well, not all of them at least. She smiled as Anton Du Beke winked at her. They were very close in age and she wouldn’t be surprised if the producers saw fit to give Anton the job of bringing on the eldest female contestant. It wouldn’t be the first time.

But they were all looking over at her. Each man smiling and stood at parade rest, waiting coolly under their own spotlights. Alicia thought about making a quip. Something about looking into the world’s best chocolate selection box.

But she doesn’t, she waits for April to wind down her introduction and the linking comments and finally a hush fall over the audience.

‘Eric Bittle!’

***

Someone up there; God or the producers, whoever, thought they have a real sense of humour.

Alicia smiled widely as Eric hopped down the stairs and travelled across the boards towards her as [the show’s signature tune played](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mxVNDmIKWrE). She'd danced with him, or rather she’d stumbled through rehearsal day like a newborn giraffe and occasionally he’d been the one valiantly attempting to marshal her efforts, and she had taken a shine to him. He was the new lad, very talented but she had seen him casting looks to the other professionals for the nod of approval for this or that.

The boy was sunshine embodied. He smiled up at her in delight as they turned to the judges for appraisal.

And he had to smile up at her, didn't he.

Because Eric is 5’8 in a Cuban heel and younger than her son, and Alicia is 5’10 in her stockinged feet.

Someone up there, and up there may very well be the production office, thought they were very funny.

And by Bruno Tonioli’s smirk, he thought so too.

***

Eric felt like there were bubbles in his blood. He’d danced in front of live audiences before. So many times that it was laughable that he was having this response. But his skin buzzed and the music had replaced his own heartbeat in his ears. Each time the soles of his feet hit the boards, the impact went up his legs, into his muscles and his grin inched wider and wider. They whirled and span and the audience was a dull roar. The celebrities and professionals flowed around each other, occasionally mixing in the fickle way of oil and water. Just as Fleur East’s words advised him to [take a deep breath](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3JZ4pnNtyxQ), he cast out his arm and his new partner slipped her hand into his grip. He tugged her into his hold, in a swirl of blue chiffon and as they twisted into to a contra check, he laughed.

***

_*The screen goes white with a whoosh.*_

_*There’s a scribbling sound as words appear, being written in a rough but legible hand.*_

Dancing Shi 

_*There’s a pause then a scribble.*_

Dancing ~~Shi~~ Stuff With Ransom and Holster

_*The camera shakes, what looks like ceiling tiles in shot before it swings down to show two faces.*_

‘Hello everyone in TV land.’

_*The two young men grin into the handheld the camera as they stand in the middle of a nondescript corridor.*_

‘Everyone is DWTS land especially,’ _*his compatriot says. The tall blonde man giggles.*_

‘You are very correct there, Rans. Right.’ _*The blonde schools his face into an attempt of seriousness.*_

‘Before we go any further-'

‘We’ve not gone anywhere yet!’

‘We need to clear a few things up. I’m sure all you out there are wondering ‘Who are these panicles of human perfection? Who are these gods among men? Where have I seen that killer jawline before? Rans! Rans, get over here and show them your jawline.’

_*Ransom turns in profile, indicating his own face with hands that proclaim ‘ta-dah’.*_

‘We, my good people, have been in every episode of DWTS.’

‘Every single one!’

‘But you may have never noticed us.’

‘We are too damn beautiful to be put forward with the lesser mortals and so they keep us in the back.’

_*Ransom laughs and bumps his shoulder into the other man, sending him spinning out of shot.*_

‘Myself and Holster here, and Jenny and Mandy are those angelic voices you hear during the performances, while the dancers do their prancing and floaty stuff.’

‘We’re the singers.’ _*Holster appears in shot up to his nose.*_ ‘We’re in the back along with the band. Where the cool kids hang out.’

‘Anyway,’ _*the camera swings and there’s the sound of footsteps. Ransom has the camera held out at arm’s length as the two of them start walking down the corridor.*_ ‘You are most likely thinking, who allowed you access to a camera?’

‘It was the producers.’

‘Why?’

‘Very good question.’ _*Holster looks straight into the camera with quirked eyebrows.*_ ‘We don’t have a clue either.’

‘Right.’ _*The camera swings, giving a shot of Ransom slightly from below as if he has the camera clasped to his chest.*_ ‘So there was an incident after last year’s wrap party. Umm… Holts and I may have gotten a little drunk-‘

‘Don’t do it kids!’

‘And we kinda stole a GoPro and did our own little show-‘

‘Neither of us remember that night.’

‘And the producers found it, and instead of firing our butts they really liked it and have given us our own little segment.’

‘See kids. Don’t do it. You end up with responsibilities.’

‘So here we are, a year later. And they want us to let all you lovely people out there know about the behind the scenes type stuff.’

‘And to do that,’ _*the camera blurs through space again and Holster is grinning into the lens with a manic glint in his eyes.*_ ‘We get to be extra nosy!’

_*The camera swings and Ransom appears in shot over Holster’s shoulder. Their grins are impossibly wide and impish.*_

‘So to start with, we are going to show you where the magic happens.’

_*Cut to the pair of them doing a movie finish jump in front of the front doors of ABC’s New York Studios.*_

‘OK, so it doesn’t look like much, but trust us,’ _*Ransom shoves the double doors open,*_ ‘this is where dreams are made and broken.’ 

_*The footage speeds ago as the two walk through the doors and along corridors, slowing to regular speed to capture Ransom and Holster giving the security guard a high five, before speeding up again. They halt at a pair of fairly ordinary pair of double doors, only to point up at the banner over the door. The purple and silver banner proclaims ‘DWTS’ over a glitter ball. There are more jazz hands. The shot changes, Holster holds a hand to his forehead with a pained expression.*_

‘One does not simply walk into the ballroom.’

_*Ransom appears around the door over his shoulder.*_

‘Umm… Yeah, you do.’

_*Holster sighs dramatically.*_

‘Get in here Meme Machine. We need to show them the inner sanctum.’

_*The footage speeds through the door. Once again, the boys are doing the movie finale jump in the middle of the dance floor.*_

‘The dance floor.’

_*The pair lie on their sides, heads propped on one arm and the other sweeping out to indicated the polished floor.*_

‘The Judges’ Desk.’

_*A series of stills showing the two men in each of the judges’ seats, doing impressions of each of them to varying levels of accuracy. Both have Craig Revel Halwood’s dead-eyed stare with disdainful eyebrows down pat.*_

‘Showers’ Tower.’

_*The pair address the camera on the platform green room where April rangles the pairs on show nights, only to turn away and the next shot is them waving down to the camera from the top of the stairs.*_

‘The Stairs.’

_*The two of them are each sitting on a bannister of the stairs that sweep around either side of the orchestra pit. They each kick off and slide down the curved bannister, jumping off the end. Holster misjudges it.*_

‘And this,’ _*The pair indicate the empty orchestra pit. The shot changes, the two men are in slight profile, both stood behind microphones.*_ ‘Is where the magic starts.’

 _*The camera pulls back, taking in the two young women stood with them and the many faces behind them in a now populated orchestra pit. The camera pulls back rapidly, taking in the audience around the dance floor and the judges sat at their desk. The applause and whoops continue to sound as a_ _credits card shows. Plain white with the image of two microphones propped on each other. As the noise of the crowd fades, the same scribbling can be heard.*_

See you next time! 

Ransom and Holster.


	3. Cha Cha Cha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eric’s a little bit star struck... OK, so he’s rather star struck.
> 
> The pair start gelling and set about finding their rhythm.
> 
> Week 1- Cha Cha Cha

Eric’s a little bit star struck.

OK, so he’s rather star struck.

He tried to keep it together when they’d gone to record their moves for the show’s opening sequence, but he’s sure he was grinning like a loon for the duration.

They'd opted for a twirl into a gentle dip combo for their segment of the opening reel. Well, they were restricted on what they could do in order to get them both in frame effectively.

They were going to have to address the height difference.

He’s not convinced he isn’t being hazed.

But Alicia.

Mrs Alicia Zimmermann.

As well as Fred and Ginger, Gene Kelley, and every Rodgers and Hammerstein, and Stanley Donen film in existence, Eric’s Moomaw raised him on a potent mix of reruns of ‘ _The Young and the Restless_ ’, ‘ _Paper Dolls_ ’ and ‘ _Dharma and Greg_ ’, and she’s been on ‘ _Leverage_ ’ and ‘ _Castle_ ’ and the 2007 Fall/Winter collections she did with Paolo Sebastian was divine, and she was so gracious on _America’s Next Top Model_ and, oh Moomaw, she’s amazing and lovely and I would calm down if I could but I juST CAN’T!

His Moomaw chuckled at the other end of the phone as Eric tried to catch his breath.

‘Just so you remember your manners, Dicky. She’s a lady and you’re going to be working with her near every day for a long while now-’

‘Moomaw,’ Eric whined.

‘Darlin’, I have money riding on you doing well in this venture. You are going to be dancing on those boards for a good long while.’

‘Moomaw,’ Eric groaned. ‘Moomaw, it is a bit of popularity contest, and I’m the new boy. The viewers are gonna have their favourites already-’

‘You’re cute as a button, Bittle,’ was yelled from the next room.

‘Is that Larissa?’ ‘

‘Yes Moomaw.’

Eric heard the intake of breath coming and held his phone at arm's length.

‘LARISSA, ARE YOU LOOKING AFTER MY BOY?’ Even on a tinny speaker phone, it was enough to make Eric wince.

‘YES MA’AM! I’M STILL KICKING HIS ASS TO GET HIM GOING!’

‘THAT’S MY BEST GIRL.’

Eric sighed and judged it safe to bring his arm back in. ‘Are you two done ganging up on me?’

‘Well, it’s not like you’re not needing it Dicky. You do need your nudging.’

‘Oh, that is unfair!’ Eric scoffed. 'When have I ever-'

‘Remind me of your senior year of high school.’

Eric glared at the opposite wall. That had been a dark time. He’d been banned from the family kitchen, his butter privileges revoked.

‘We do not speak of that time.’

‘That’s because you had to pull your finger out in order to graduate with your head held high young man.’

Eric sighed once more. OK so he had hoped he’d grow out of the procrastination thing, but no joy. He was just thankful he’d somehow surrounded himself with strong willed women who knew when he needed to be left to his own devices and when he needed a poke with a cattle prod. ‘Well trust me, Moomaw, this is getting everything I’ve got.’

‘Glad to hear it Dicky. Has everyone welcomed you? Is that Brendan Cole as nice a young gentleman as he appears.’

Eric pulled a face at the opposite wall. ‘Isn’t he meant to be the ‘Bad Boy’?’

His Moomaw flustered on the other end of the line. ‘Oh you know that’s just all brash and bluster. He must be a sweetheart really.’

‘Oh he is a babe,’ Lardo dodged Eric’s shoulder as it jumped up about his ear and draped herself over it, Eric slumping mutinously. ‘Such a sweetie, he’s just very protective of his partners.’

‘Could you actually hear the conversation?’

‘No, but I know your Nana. Bitty, keep pulling faces at the wall and I will install a mirror, don’t think I won’t. Anyway,’ she shifted her weight and leaned a little closer to the phone. ‘He’s made quite an impression.’

‘He took pie, didn’t he.’

Lardo grinned, ‘Oh he took multiple pies. Come on Bits, put her on speaker.’

‘I took a selection of mini summer berries,’ Eric said, rolling his eyes as he did as he was told.

‘They seemed well received.’

‘I think Chowder may have cried a little bit and you made Katya Jones moan.’

‘You did what young man?’ Moomaw sounded like she was having far too much fun.

Lardo leant even further towards the phone, paying Eric’s squawking no mind as she bore him to the sofa cushions. ‘She got her pie, took a bite and it was the classic ‘first-time-trying-Bitty’s-wares’ face and there was moaning and eyes closed and then she stole Neil’s and mantled over it.’

Lardo grinned as Moomaw began to howl with laughter.

‘Violet, I thank your grandson every day for the image of a tiny Russian lady attacking her husband for baked goods, being successful and then threatening to stab anyone who came too close to her bounty. It was like watching a wolverine taken down a caribou.’

‘Winning those hearts and minds then darlin’?’

‘Oh! You should totally bake pies for all the judges!’

‘Lardo, how do you suggest I apply that to the viewing public? Also, there isn't enough sugar in the world that is gonna sweeten Craig Revel Horwood.’

***

They were starting off with the Cha Cha Cha. Which Alicia took as a blessing because the steps were in the name.

Well, they weren’t starting off right away. The Sunday was spent doing ground work.

They’d found a sports centre in Providence which had a few studios for rent. They had to find somewhere that was happy to be booked by the week. And somewhere happy to have a two-man film crew on the premises.

Tango and Whiskey, camera and sound respectively, were young.

So young.

Everyone on this project seemed so damn young. The two had introduced themselves, Tango talking enough for the two of them, and then them huddling into a corner to set up the tripod and tinker.

Eric and she had arrived within ten minutes of each other, Eric hurtling up the pavement and doing the muted heavy breathing one does when they're trying to hide the fact they’d just sprinted for the last 2km. Apparently, he’d taken a wrong turn on the way from the station, but he vowed that wouldn’t happen again as he dropped all pretences and clutched his own knees as he gulped for air.

They changed into their kit. Alicia had brought along the kit she wore whenever she had the time for, or remembered, Pilates. She’d nicked one of Bob’s over large geeky t-shirt to go over the usual sports bra and turns up her running leggings a little to accommodate the shoes.

That's gonna be the weird part.

Now Alicia can walk in heels. Alicia can spend an evening standing on knitting needles if she has to, sustained only by the knowledge that she wear a potential murder weapon on each foot. Alicia can walk miles and miles of runway in a day in shoes that ought not to function and in outfits that seemed determined to shift her centre of gravity up into her throat. But she never stayed on them over-long.

These creamy gold t-straps were barely 2 inches high but they were going to become an extension of her.

They bite into her heels over the course of that first day.

They spent it looking at Alicia’s musicality and movement. Eric put his ancient iPod on shuffle and asking Alicia, with a little bit of blushing and rambling, to interpret the music in movement. They started with just walking, picking a stride out of beat and emoting the lyrics.

It turned out that Alicia had a good level of musicality. She put it down to her modelling. She said to Eric, when he complimented her, when you are walking down a runway wearing next to nothing and feeling alien on your own skin, you find something to hook your mind into. She'd walked miles in her time to the rhythmic thump of music and the steady click and flash of cameras.

They changed it up after lunch. The tinny old iPod kept up the flow of different styles and rhythms and over the top of it, Eric was shouting different body parts and directions. All of a sudden, Alicia need to focus her movement in lower legs whilst taking the movement left. Then it was all in the wrists but she needed to move in a circle. And all the while Sia and Imagine Dragons and OneRepublic and RuPaul lead the way and lent the beat.

At the end of the first day, Alicia stood and observed her reflection in the ceiling to floor mirrors of the studio. Her face was flushed and blotchy, her hair falling out of what had been an artfully messy bun at 9 o’clock this morning. It now curled up from her head in riotous wisps or lay stuck to her neck with sweat. She ached; her legs ached, her back ached and her feet were on fire. Her t-shirt is now damp, Darth Vader’s helmet a shade darker than it ought to be. She looked and felt a wreck.

And then she looked across at Eric. He was looking at her in the mirror. His hands steepled under his nose doing nothing to hide his blinding grin. He looked like he was fighting the urge to bounce up and down on the balls of his feet.

‘So,’ she huffed, putting her hands on her hips and trying to hide the wince as she shifted her weight. ‘Think you can do something with this?’

Eric dropped his hands and his smile softened, but it still hinted at a wattage that could light a theatre. He joined her in front of the mirror, looking at the pair of them standing side by side with a speculative air.

‘Oh yes Ma’am,’ he said with conviction. ‘We will most definitely make this work.’

***

_*The screen goes white with a whoosh.*_

_*There’s a scribbling sound as words appear, being written in a rough but legible hand.*_

Dancing ~~Shi~~

_*There’s a pause then a scribble.*_

Dancing ~~Shi~~ Stuff 

With Ransom and Holster 

_*Ransom and Holster both appear in frame, both wearing lazy smiles.*_

‘Greetings my dancing stars! Thank you for joining us once again.’

‘Now,’ _*Holster clears his throat slightly.*_ ‘We thought we’d best talk you through what you are actually going to be seeing for the next 3 and a half months. So today-’

‘We are taking you through the Latin American dances!’

_*_ _Ransom disappears out of shot as fast as he appeared.*_

‘I wanted to do the Ballroom dances first but we tossed a coin.’

_*Ransom rolls his eyes at Holster’s grumbling.*_

‘Thing is, while Holster and I could no doubt demonstrate the dances and their elements perfectly.’

‘Bro. We could though.’

‘For sure bro, but we’d be hard pushed to dances and explain at the same time.’

‘Only ‘cause I’d get lost in your eyes bro.’

‘Bro.’

_*Ransom and Holster fist bump without breaking eye contact.*_

‘Anyway, they need to earn their pay cheques somehow, so here are Farmer and Chowder.’

_*The camera swings on Chris and Caitlin, waiting patiently off to one side.*_

‘These two have agreed to be our dancing monkeys.’

‘You stole Chris’ hoddie and held it hostage until we said ‘Yes’. Mean.’

‘We returned the hoddie unharmed. Martin Jones’ signature unharmed.’

_*Chris just glares darkly at Ransom.*_

‘OK, can you two get into hold and can you stop him making the murder face? Please?’

‘No,‘ _*Cait stands and turns her back to the pair, extending an elegant arm across Chris’s chest, holding him back as he continues to glower.*_ ‘Like I said, mean. You’re lucky we’re here at all.’

‘And we thank you, sweet Caitlin, for indulging us and being here.’

_*Holster flashes a winning smile as Ransom all but hides behind him.*_

‘As much as we know and love this show, we need your expertise at this time.’

‘Shall we start? We ought to start.’

‘OK,’ _*Ransom grumps.*_ ‘Now, we’re not gonna tell you everything about each of the dances, else we’d be here for the full programme. But if you think of a dance as a garden, we’re going to explain the lawn to you. And we’re gonna start with the most intimate thing you can do with your clothes on-'

‘What about bathing your partner?’

‘Giving them a massage?’

‘Hand feeding them?’

‘Singing to them?’

‘Writing notes to them?’

‘Prepar-‘

‘ALRIGHT! You two are disgustingly in love, we get it. The most intimate DANCE you can do with your clothes on, happy? Now, get into hold before we fine you for being too damn cute.’

_*Chris scowls, Cait smirks at them but slips into a ballroom hold.*_

‘The Rumba,’ _*Holster says with awe and gravitas,*_ ‘is the dance of romance, my people. The dance of lurve… So, of course, these two are showing us up without even doing anything…’

_*Holster looks balefully at Chris and Cait who have draped themselves over each other, leaning into one another.*_

‘But Latin, it’s about independent movement in different parts of the body; legs rhythm and torso melody and it all meets in the middle with the hips.’

_*Cait pushes herself away from Chris ever so slightly, and transfers her weight from one foot to the other and back, pushing her hips out in a continual slow figure of eight.*_

‘Now, the basic step is a slow-quick-quick action and can form a box or can retrace the journey. The first two steps are travelling steps, the first slow and taking two beats, and the second quick and the lasts for one beat, and punctuated by bringing the feet together.’

_*_ _To the side of Holster, Chris and Cait demonstrate the basic step in a box step formation.*_

‘Now the judges are going to want to see a good use of the basic step and strong definition between the quicks and the slows. And hip action, they are sticklers for hip action. By fully straightening the leg,’ _*Cait slows them for a moment to demonstrate,*_ ‘you ensure that the other hip is fully pushed out. Possibly most important, you need to sell it. You have to have romance and interplay, or at least be able to act it. You can spot a couple who aren’t gelling well a mile off because it shows in every movement. Just check out Brendan’s from Series 3.’

‘Poor Brendan.’

_*Ransom shakes his head sadly. Cait and Chris slow to a stop and disengage, but hold onto each other’s hands.*_

‘OK, we’re gonna speed things up a bit. We’re heading for Carnival town with the Samba. This is a party dance, but a lot of our couples struggle with it and it has sent more couples home than any other dance here on _Dancing With The Stars_. It’s because this dance is an ever changing beast. The rhythm changes throughout because if you’re dancing in a carnival you need to respond to your surroundings and keep moving with the flow. You’ve got your quick-quick-slow-’

_*Chris and Cait demonstrate.*_

‘Your slow-quick-quick-’

_*Chris and Cait demonstrate.*_

‘You’ve got your one and two and so on.’

_*Chris and Cait share a look before casting a scathing look over at Ransom, all the while their feet are a blur.*_

‘And on top of all that, you’ve got to make the audience believe they’re stumbled into Mardi Gras.’

‘Segueing slightly, we move on to the Salsa. Now the Salsa is a mix of few different dance styles; Mambo, Cha Cha Cha and Samba. You blend them together, drench in hot sauce and there you have a Salsa. It’s all about the club atmosphere.’

_*Chris hooks an arm around Cait waist and tugs her in, there’s an ‘umph’ that morphs into a giggle.*_

‘Don’t make me fine you. Anyway, Salsa originated in the club scene, so there’s room to work with. Weirdly, everything gets a little freer. The upper body comes into play and there’s a lot of turns and twists. And lifts. NO! Don’t.’

_*Holster is too late as Chris had already dropped down to one knee back to back with Cait before she winked at the camera as he gripped her upper arms and flipped her over his shoulder and she dropped into a split, her leading leg slipping between his feet before her lifted her up into hold again and straight back into the basic step.*_

‘So, they’ve taken 4 years off my life now they’ve shown the key feature of Salsa. Rhythm. Never break that rhythm. The steps loose the rigidness you would see in other latin dances and it’s a fun and sexy, sexy dance. Right, what’s next? Rans, please tell me it’s something nice and gentle.’

_*Ransom purses his lips and tilts the cue card in his hand so Holster can see it. He whines and drops his head onto Ransom’s shoulder.*_

‘The Paso Doble is the story of the bullfight.’

_*Ransom sounds pained. He looks over his shoulder to Chris and Cait.*_

‘Do I even need to talk? Shall we leave them to it?’

_*Chris and Cait had started circling each other, Cait drawing up the edges of her skirt. Their arms are out, swaying back and forth like a pair of cobras.*_

‘No we better explain the Charmer mating display-’

_*The pair squawk a little and Chris flushes beet red. *_

‘Yes. Yes.’

_*Holster waves a placating hand in their direction. *_

‘You’re world champions, this is your dance, we know. And we love you, but we’re trying to teach the children here, reign it in.’

_*The pair square off against each other again, still red with embarrassment.*_

‘The Paso can be served two ways; bull or cape. In either case, the man is always the Matador and in command of the dance, usually. Sort of. Well, he’s meant to have strong, dominant lines. But the lady can be one of two things; she can be the cape, following and shadowing the man’s steps and flowing across the floor, or she can be the bull, which means more dramatic poses, more aggressive stances-‘

‘Basically, she’s ready to wreck him.’

‘It’s a very showy dance, full of Flamenco movements.’

_*Cait and Chris mirror each other’s’ arched arms and posture, backs straight and chests out.*_

‘It’s all about drama and passion. You wouldn’t think it of our sweet little love birds would you?’

‘WLD Paso champions.’ _*Chris mutters.*_

‘Yeah, well, you found each other on this show, you can consider us responsible for your happiness.’

‘Yes, and I can consider you responsible as to why half my pay check seems to end up in the Sin Bin-’

‘Anyway, from one iconic dance to another. The Jive.’

_*Holster cuts in as Cait smothers her giggles in Chris’ shoulder as he continues to glower at Ransom.*_

‘I, personally, love this dance. A mix of Lindy Hop, Jitterbug, Swing, Rock ‘n’ Roll. Everything you’d expect on a GI’s dance card. The basic step is a rock step back-’

_*Chris and Cait lean away from one another, rocking onto the back foot.*_

‘Followed by a side step back and forth.’

_*The two of them sashay back before repeating the back step.*_

‘The Jive is characterised by its’ kicks and flicks. Kicks from the hip-‘

_*Holster jumps out of the way as Chris and Cait take their cue.*_

‘Rude. And flicks from the knee.’

‘It is a fast and energetic dance with very precise placing of the feet. It may look like madness but it’s a thing of crafting.’

‘And finally, the final Latin dance we’re going to be demonstrating today, the Cha Cha Cha. This dance is a fan favourite, full of attitude and cheek. A fun, flirty dance. It’s like the younger sister of the Rumba. While the Rumba is waiting for the slow numbers at the end of a wedding party, the Cha Cha Cha is the young bridesmaid first on the dance floor with a glass of stolen champagne.’

‘Oh, I love that!’

‘Thank you Cait, anyway the Cha Cha Cha is all in the name. That syncopated step that gives the dance its’ name is bracketed by a back step at each end. Watch that syncopated step they’ve got going there, see it? That’s the ground work there. You can fancy it up with passes and New York stances, but like all Latin dances, we’re looking for good hip action, make sure those toes are turned out and those arms are well finished.’

‘And that, Holster, is the end of today’s lesson. Hopefully, you’ve all learnt a little about the Latin dances that will be featuring in the show. Thank you to our two wonderful dancing monkeys, we will see you two and you all next week, where we’ll be going over the ballroom dances.’

‘Hang on, what makes you think we’ll be up for doing this again next week?’

‘Well Chowder, I’m sure Cait would like to see her Heathers Playbill again?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Oh, oh you guys messed up.’

_*Ransom and Holster look over their shoulder where Chris is stepping away from Cait. She has turned on them with a very dangerous look on her face.*_

‘My copy of the Heathers Playbill, signed by the original cast?’

‘Oh sh-‘

‘Cut the camera, CUT THE CAMERA!’

_*_ _The sound of a muted scream is lost under the sound of scribbling.*_

See you next time! 

Ransom and Holster 

***

Alicia had never really considered herself unfit before, the year of her pregnancy with Jack being the obvious exception. But even then she’d stayed active.

This training, with Eric, was a workout. A constant, 4 to 5 hours at a time depending on commitments, workout. After two days, she made sure to have a complete change of training clothes, complete with fresh underwear and sports bra. Because within minutes it seemed, she was sweating. Despite the air conditioning and it didn’t matter how many windows they eked open.

Eric was a taskmaster. You wouldn’t think it looking at that adorable countenance, but every time Alicia finished a sequence and came to a halt, hands on her knees and thinking ‘COFFEE BREAK’ in Eric’s direction as loudly as she could with a pleading smile, he’d grin and clap his hands.

‘Great. Again, from the top and we’ll add the next sequence.’

Alicia may have hit the deck once or twice with an injured groan. Usually about 4 in the afternoon.

She was struggling. And what pissed her off was that she had not expected to struggle.

Oh, she had had no grand visions of coming in and suddenly her up until now unknown skills of a prima ballerina bursting forth. No, it was that she didn’t expect to sit down at the end of a training session and stare down at her own legs in bewilderment. She was just relieved Eric couldn’t hear her inner monologue.

‘Come on girls. We’ve worked together for over 50 years. Excluding that summer of ’79. You know me. We do good work together. You got us on Elle’s ’ _20 Leg Role Models Through History_ ’. So why aren’t you cooperating now? And neck, I know you’re aching, but care to explain the general gap between my brain and my spinal cord?’

And remembering the steps… Lord, Alicia had learnt blocking for so many plays and films and pieces over the years. She could still walk her way through Act 1 of ‘ _Much Ado About Nothing_ ’ and that had been her first role at Samwell for pity’s sake. But apparently, about 2 minutes’ worth of movement was beyond her.

So physical tiredness, plus pushing her mental capacity to the max, adding in that the fact that she had over 10 years on the next oldest female contestant meant that a fair few things were occurring in Alicia’s head.

She was exhausted all the time. She wakes up every morning to a shrill little voice screaming ‘you’ve forgotten it all!’ She was terrified that she’d made a terrible mistake. She was questioning her own intelligence, her ability, and after the fourth time she’d eaten the polished floor boards, her credentials as a woman able to walk in heels.

Quite possibly, in anyone else’s hands, she’d be a wreck right now.

But she’s not.

Because Eric’s not allowing it to happen. He’s forever smiling; be it an encouraging quirk of the lips as he’s correcting her footwork or a grin that’s threatening to split his face when she completes the routine without mistakes. When they do, finally, stop for coffee, he’s plying her with exquisite little pieces of pastry. While her teeth are effectively glued together with pie filling, he breaks down each and every one of the concerns queuing on her tongue. There’s no dismissal, no patronising. He just airs them well before they have time to take root in slowly growing confidence. He’s answering her questions, listening to her ideas, asking her about her past projects and only occasionally allowing them to get side tracked by tales from Alicia’s occasionally glamorous past.

She’s giggling into the floor when she trips over Eric for the fifth time to the point where he’s sagged onto the floor next to her, his shoulders quaking. ‘No! No! I’ve got it. Oh, Alicia, you are a genius! We’ll do our first number like this! Face down on the boards, have the cameras above us. Oh, you visionary!’ Alicia can’t breathe for laughter as Eric’s voice became ever so slightly muffled by the hard wood and he waved his limbs around like a beached starfish. ‘A debut in static motion. So new, so avant-garde. Craig will love it!’

She’s screaming at the mirrors for messing up the footwork for the ninth time in a row and he’s calmly mimicking her faces in the same mirror. ‘Ooo, I like that one. We are re-visiting that face in Paso week.’

She’s busting out old voguing shapes and club moves that haven’t seen the light of day in decades. She’s sweating through 2 t-shirts a day. She’s welcomed home by Bobby every night, to his smile and strong arms all but lifting her straight out of the car and into a hot bath. She was laughing to the point she thought she’d be sick.

She’d not felt this alive in years.

***

She was fairly certain her heart was going to give out.

Any second now.

Her heart was going to do her a favour and stop. 

They weren’t the first onto the dance floor this evening. Thank God. But seeing younger, prettier things flit around the dance floor was not steadying her nerves. It didn’t matter if they soared or if they stumbled, each performance before her own only ratcheted up her nerves further.

The judges were not exactly pulling any punches tonight either.

She tried to marshal her shaking breathing as the transmission slid away from their faces and into the montage documenting their first week in the training together. She tried to hide the wince as she heard her own voice echoing around the ballroom. She wasn’t usually embarrassed or shy about her performances, but she wasn’t a character or a brand right now. 

She was herself.

She was herself up on that big screen as she told the camera how, genuinely, hard she’d found the week. She went to run a hand over her face but thankfully caught herself in time.

God, she wanted Bobby here. But he was stuck in Montreal for the next couple of weeks. She’d still been receiving ‘good luck’ and ‘I love you’ texts in the makeup chair, much to the delight of the make-up artists. Camilla was here in the front row. The extended pouting that had occurred when she realised that Kristina Rihanoff wasn’t in this year’s line-up had been assuaged by the offer of a ticket to every show. Alicia could see her out there now, all but bouncing up and down in her chair but she really, really wanted Bobby here right now. She wanted to wrap herself in his arms and hide there until it is safe to come out again. He was watching the live show if the texts and his twitter feed were anything to go by. He could try all he likes, but #TeamZimmle wasn’t going to catch on.

Oh God, live show. Live television.

Alicia went to clap her hand over her mouth. It fell short, thudding against her collar bone.

Eric turned to her at the aborted move and his face was one she’d not seen before. His face was calm and to an outsider, it could be called a mask. But Alicia would like to think she’d got to know Eric in their first week together and the boy couldn’t do masks to save his life. With Eric, he wore everything out on his sleeve; that much she knew already.

His mouth and eyebrows quirked up at her, his eyes earnest, as he took her hand and lead her to their starting positions on the floor. She can’t see the screens any longer but she can still hear the audio. She realises that Tango and Whiskey had captured their shared floor board breakdown when she hears the laughter of the studio audience. She can hear Eric’s glowing praise of her work ethic and potential and out of the corner of her eye, Alicia can see the young floor manager coo and hug her clipboard to her chest.

‘It’s just you, remember?’ Eric’s voice is a rushed whisper as the reel closes to the show’s signature tune. ‘Come on,’ he says and his calm smile has taken on a slightly manic and wicked little gleam just as the lights came up. ‘Let’s make the world regret they ever took their eyes off you.’

***

‘You’ve spent so long lending yourself to your causes, and projects and the Lord knows what else. Ma’am, when was the las-, OK, OK, yes Alicia. Alicia, when was the last time you did something for yourself? Hmm? Took a holiday? Had a day with your family? Well, while you think about it, I just want to leave you with a thought.

So we’re heading out onto that dance floor tomorrow night for the first time, aren’t we. Yeah, my first time too. This is my first chance to make an impression. But, no, we’re getting off track.

Because, this is for you. This whole experience, I want to make sure that it is for you. So every dance we do, however many that is, I want to know what you want to do, what you feel, how you feel. We’ll call on characters if we need to for some dances but it has to you first-

Why? Well, because, you deserve it. Umm… I’m sorry, that sounded a little strange I know, but Alicia, you’ve earned this. I grew up watching your shows and your movies and all, but, and I hope you don’t think me forward in this, but I feel like I’ve gotten to know you a little these last few weeks. And, well, I just think you are a diamond. And, and the world ought to see you shine. They ought to see Alicia Zimmermann shine.

Now, don’t you dare look back, just keep your eyes on me.’

***

Dancing the Cha Cha Cha, Alicia Zimmermann, and her partner Eric Bittle.

***

When the [music starts](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MgUIlh2h7CQ), Eric can feel the tempo of the guitar in his blood, and he has to fight down a grin. Nope, remember, telling a little bit of a story, you can’t just gurn like a fool like you typically do.

He’s fussing over Alicia, flicking imaginary lint from her shoulders and tweaking the asymmetrical skirt of her jade green and black dress so the beading fell just so. He’s acting like an anxious papa at his little girl’s first dance recital, and to be honest he feels that way too. Alicia’s worked so hard, they’ve worked so hard to make a good first impression. 

He straightens up a little where they both stand on top of the raised platform at the back of the dancefloor. He tries to adopt a stern expression as he tells her to keep her eyes on him, flicking his fingers between their eyes. She makes a show of rolling her eyes as he continues to fuss until she catches hold of a flailing wrist and tugs him down the step and onto the boards. He loses his balance as theatrically as he can, steadying himself to sit on the second step of the stairs for a moment. Alicia has every eye in the place, executing a few cha cha walks, checks, and twists. 

He’s so proud of her. Her first dance as part of this experience and she’s got 4 bars at the very beginning where it is just her. He can see her free leg shaking with nerves on the ronde, but’s she’s on the beat and making beautiful shapes. He can see the moment she relaxes ever so slightly. Over the ‘Oooh’, that Holtser provides so wonderfully, her arms come up and she vogues for a bar, her graceful hands going double time even as her feet kept up the chasses. The growing whoop from the crowd at that detail caught Eric a little off guard but it delighted him that a little bit of Alicia was being so well received. He almost missed his cue; Alicia turned her back to the room and stretched an arm out towards him, beckoning with fingers and a smile that was slowly getting braver. 

She seemed to calm when he hopped up off the steps and took her outstretched arm and lead them into the cha cha walks. They’d had to work on the stride lengths making sure that Alicia didn’t inadvertently leave him in the dust and Eric was relieved to see that, even if she got lost during their side-by-side mirror segment, she didn’t take off like a spooked horse while they were travelling together. The mistake was obvious, she somehow ended up a beat behind, but she recovered wonderfully, disregarding what choreography had been planned and instead listened to the music, holding the pose at the end of the phrase.

Her arms were wonderful though. Alicia had a natural grace about her that delighted Eric and out of the corner of his eye, he could see Bruno Tonioli nodding slightly as they executed a New York step just in front of the judges’ desk. Her free arm was placed just right and her fingers were splayed delicately and just so. He hadn’t even needed to mention it. 

The Turkish Towel step they stepped out of downstage just about survived. Eric had been determined to put in an underarm turn because the height difference needed to be addressed. At the last moment, Alicia remembered to bend her knees to lower herself enough to go under his arm, but he was worried she may have panic and hunched down to ensure she was clear.

No matter though. She was back to her full height as they travelled back around the edge of the dance floor, him leading the way in a Follow My Leader figure. These two bars as they made their way back into position for the big finish were all for her. ‘This is where you work the room,’ he’d said and the noise from the audience peaked as they moved, and out of his peripheral vision, he could see her arms reaching out to the audience, encouraging them to join in on the fun.

That’s his girl.

The last chorus they dance centre stage, just below the steps that lead down from the orchestra pit. He choreographed a series of fans and hockey stick steps, because how could he not. He didn’t know if it was the fact that this was the last push and it was all most over, but he felt once more surge of energy from Alicia as if relief was pushing her on. There was one more section of Voguing and Eric was happy to concede that, yes, Alicia definitely did that part better than he did. She looked in her element and the grin he’d been fighting down for the last few minutes won out. In the last strains of electric guitar, he caught her hand and guided her through a sequence of quick spins before leaning back to counterweight her as she bowed out of the hold, her whole body arching and her free arm raised to the light fixtures as the last notes died away.

***

The roar from the crowd startled Alicia. Absently, she wondered why because she’d seen every couple getting a rousing reception once they’d finished, even the truly stumbling efforts. She blinked as Eric rocketed into her side, wrapping his arms around her waist and spinning the pair of them. He was emitting a strange noise, he sounded like a gleeful tea kettle and she couldn’t help but laugh breathlessly as he towed her over to the judges’ desk to where March was waiting patiently and with a kindly smile to receive them.

But it’s the four faces over her shoulder that sends ice plummeting into Alicia’s stomach.

The critiques. That’s what they were walking towards.

March smiled and chattered for a moment, allowing the pair of them to get their breath back, but Alicia was more preoccupied with the sloshing of nerves and adrenalin like her stomach had suddenly become a cocktail shaker. 

‘Len, did that make you want to get up and dance with them?’ 

‘Well, I’m certainly not looking back!’ Len Goodman smiled kindly at her while the crowd cheered, his eyes twinkling. ‘No I think you have real potential. There were lovely bits in this routine; you had lively hip action and clean footwork. You did lose it a bit in the middle section-‘ He had to pause a moment as the indignant boos from the audience started rising. ‘Look I am judging what I see, blimey it’s only week one and all. As I was saying, lost a little in the middle section but you recovered so very well. Overall; very nice and a first class first dance.’

Alicia could feel the heat rising in her cheeks as the audience whooped and clapped at the praise.

‘Bruno?’

‘Oh yes, we have all the makings of a fantastic pair here!’ His cheeky smile was infectious and Eric laughed next to her, squeezing her waist. ‘No, my dear, Len is right. You have all the assets in place-‘ and here there was giggling from the audience, ‘but you need to invest in a little more confidence. Technique wise, just be careful you don’t over-clip else you will lose that lovely hip action. But have confidence in yourself my darling, I know it’s all new and scary but you are more than up to the task. And I loved all this.’ Without any warning, Bruno was half out of his chair and giving a half-decent rendition of his own voguing routine. But the Italian was famed for his issues with personal space, as in, not observing other peoples and he was a little over-enthusiastic. Len ducked for cover, throwing his own arms over his head for protection and the audience laughed at Bruno’s antics. ‘I loved it,’ Bruno crowed over the rising din, ‘I was suddenly back in the ‘80s, in New York in the Ballroom scene. I loved it.’

Alicia couldn’t help the giggles that bubbled up at the ridiculous man’s behaviour. You wouldn’t think the man was 10 years older than her. As a sniggering March turned to Craig Revel Horwood, Alicia felt her smile freeze. He was the judge you needed to impress, he was the Cerberus you needed to sneak past. ‘Well, I thought it was a bit on the spiky side and overall rather aggressive.’ The booing and sneering had begun before he even had time to draw breath. ‘Your free leg on the rondes wasn’t firm enough, you lost timing completely on the midsection, you lost your posture on the underarm turns and I thought the choreography was a bit on the safe side-‘ 

‘It’s week 1!’, Bruno cried indignantly. ‘Give them a chance to find their feet.’

‘It’s never too early to set a standard,’ Craig shot back, not even looking around as Bruno rolled his eyes and turned away. He fluttered his hand dismissively towards Craig and mouthed ‘pay him no mind’ to Eric and Alicia. ‘Having said that, I agree with my colleagues, there is potential here, you are going to have a few roadblocks to overcome,’ and here, he casts a look between the two of them, and especially the empty inches that start at the left side of Alicia’s jaw. ‘But I loved the energy you brought to the dance.’ The applause that follows is bolstering and there are a few nodding heads that suggest that he may have escaped a mobbing.

‘Thank you, Craig,’ March said with a gracious smile. One of her hands had found Alicia’s elbow and gave her an encouraging squeeze and a smile. ‘Darcy, do you have last points?’

‘I do agree with the boys but, Craig, aggressive? Really? Alright the fluidity wasn’t there 100% of the time but nerves are going to play a factor, there is no doubt at this stage.’ Darcy turned to address Alicia direct and Alicia couldn’t help but marvel that the ex-prima ballerina made such a simple movement so graceful. ‘It’s week 1, it’s all new and scary and you are both still working this out as a partnership. Find your confidence and once you do I’m willing to bet you’ll be amazing. And you’ve-‘ Darcy had to pause and smiled as she waited for the noise of approval from the audience to subside once more. ‘You’ve really got lovely arm placement and such a natural musicality. You pulled yourself out of that little hiccup without any prompting because you listened. Well done.’

***

Eric can’t remember much from the point he’d seized Alicia’s hand and tugged her out of the firing line. There was more noise as they bounded across the boards and up the stairs and he can now taste the giddiness on his tongue. He’s so much warmer than he had been a minute ago and he feels like he could ricochet off the walls.

Their first dance! They’d done it. He was so proud of Alicia. The judges had some valid comments and he admitted as such to April when she asked him for a reaction, but it was early days still. Everyone was still finding their feet, even the seasoned pros had had wobbles this evening.

Literally.

Derek Nurse’s partner had saved him from completely [face-planting](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Uoyy1VPEd0) when his dress shoes had betrayed him at the bottom of the stairs to Shower’s Tower. He hid his face in his top hat up the rest of the stairs.

The comment about ‘safe choreography’, that had hurt a little. It hurt because, alright it was true. That he did not confess to April or the green room at large. But this was like nothing he’d ever done before, he didn’t really know what he was up against, or what Alicia was up to. Or, heck, what he was up to. Alicia wasn’t the only one in search of confidence.

He gave himself a faint shake to clear his head as Alicia stepped into his arms to receive their scores. This was her journey, her experience. He was meant to bring her on and support her. He couldn’t make this about himself.

Their scores weren’t bad; two ‘6s’ from Craig and Darcy that were met with braying from the stall and two ‘7s’ from Len and Bruno which got a smattering of applause. That put them in the middle of the pack at the moment and there was only a couple of dances to go. They hadn’t been the best pair of the night by quite a way but likewise, they hadn’t been the worst by, thankfully, a long, long shot.  

Eric didn’t think he’d ever seen a better poster child for the phrase ‘fish out of water’ as one Dr Marisha Bridges. While she was in her element expanding on the natural history of thresher sharks while swimming with said beasts or kicking her way through snow banks in Alaskan wolf country, she clearly found dancing for a minute and a half on live television and then standing in front of the judges the most trying and terrifying ordeal of her life. But thinking about it, possibly a wolf savaging would have been more merciful than Craig. Chris had led her through their coltish Quickstep with the attention and support he seemed to offer everyone however, defended her against some of the more barbed comments and only winced a little when Craig brought out the ‘3’ paddle.

But then, after the judges' scores, comes the public opinion. And that’s when Eric’s smile became a little fixed. Of course, the judges’ scores were just there as a guidance tool. It all came down to the voting of the general public. And they were up against some big names; singers, actors, an NFL champion for Pete’s sake! And then there was the following of the professional dancers themselves to consider….

No. Nope. Not thinking about that.

One week at a time.

Provided they get through this week. 

Oh Lord please let them get through this week.

It’s pretty much what his brain bleats on repeat until they are all in position. All 14 pairs arranged in various locations around the dance floor, the raised stage and the twin stair cases that sweep down around the orchestra pit. All pinned under their own white spotlights.

And that’s where they left them, as the percussion section sounded out a heartbeat into the silence.

Eric was vaguely aware that he probably resembled a haunted painting. He could feel the tendons in his eyes sockets starting to ache as he kept looking over and over again to March who was standing in front of the judges' desk. 

She’d address the cameras, saying that ‘that safe this week are….’, and then came either the longest dramatic ever seen on live broadcast or a technical malfunction because nothing.

Was.

Happening.

‘All of you.’

April and March grinned through the variety of reactions that come.

Confusion, shock, relief, indignation, incredulity.

‘No one is going home this week.’

‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ and April’s voice held no remorse at all. The Cheshire grin held even less. ‘Did we forget to mention that?’ 

Eric followed Joanne Cliffton’s lead, dropped down onto the steps behind him and muffled his own screams into his up thrust knees.


	4. Foxtrot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exhaustion is a dangerous, dangerous enemy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay. Had the night shift and an array of technical difficulties.

Charlene frowned down the length of the train carriage and then at the schedule taped to the inside of the control panel. He ought to be getting off at the next stop. The next stop that they were approaching at speed. At this rate, the boy looked like he intended to sleep until they hit Virginia Beach.

That wouldn’t do. She and her girls had sat up to watch ‘Dancing With The Stars’ like they did ever season it rolled around, and the new boy had made quite an impression on the show already. And her granddaughter would never forgive her if Mawmaw let ‘Mrs Zimman’s’ partner sleep past his stop.

She set off down the carriage aisle with a determined air, stopping only to unhook her uniform jacket pocket that had caught on an empty seat’s am rest. The carriage was nearly empty; just a few bleary-eyed commuters and one young man who was spark out and snoring against the window. Charlene bent down to retrieve a few pencils that had rolled away from the heaped chaos on the table and were doing their best to make a break for it, inching their way along the aisle with every rock of the carriage.

‘Eric Bittle.’ She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder and rocked him. ‘We’re just approaching Pennsylvania Station.’

There was no response from the young man so she shook him a little firmer. He jolted upright after a second but it was clear his spine had only responded on instinct. His eyes were open, but only just and he peered around at his surrounds with a detached fascination. She crouched down until she was eye level with him.

‘Eric?’

‘Uhhmmm?’

‘Eric, you stop is coming up in 4 minutes.’

With a squeak, the lad was up and out of his chair. He pulled his messenger bag down off the rack overhead and started shovelling everything on the table top into it. He seemed so puzzled and distressed when he couldn’t tug his laptop away from the wall that she just had to duck down and unplug it for him.   

‘Thank you,’ he muttered distractedly. He slung his messenger bag over his head just as the train ground to a halt and dropped a quick kiss onto her cheek. ‘Thank you, honey.’

Charlene watched him dash down the aisle to the doors and out onto the platform.  She watched as he skidded to a stop and turned back to the train with a dawning look of dismay on his face. She wiggled her fingers in a wave at him as the trained pulled away from the platform again and in the failing light, she just saw him drop a hand from where it covered his mouth long enough to wave weakly back.

***

That had been the first time Charlene had saved his bacon.

The commute is starting to eat into Eric’s energy.

It had seemed like such a good idea at the time. He’d use the train commute to get to and from Providence and training with Alicia, and in that time, he could plan and listen to potential dance tracks and choreograph routines. It was ideal.

No, it wasn’t. It wasn’t ideal.

It was a daily commute of 6 hours. And that is just while the train is moving. If he started adding up the additional travel time at either end, Eric’s certain he spends more time clocking up miles on the rails than on the boards.

And using the commute time for planning… Well, that’s been the plan and that’s what happened for almost the first week. Almost. Then the exhaustion had gotten to him and now he was being woken at either Pen or Providence Station by a kindly member of the train crew or a concerned passenger.

It’s gotten to the point where the train conductors are starting to recognise him. He’s astounded that is a sea of morning and evening commuters, the staff could pick him out; Charlene made sure to wave and smile at him, even after the first time he properly spoke to her as he apologised for his half-asleep behaviour. She’d laughed kindly at him as his face burned and told him ‘not to fret chere’.  But the crew along the Northeast Regional treated him like he’s a regular at his local coffee shop, and he was so grateful for their good cheer. And Charlene had saved his bacon, now on several occasions. The grandmotherly conductor on the 18:45 from Boston South had made gently shaking him awake as they were leaving New Rochelle Station part of her routine duties.

He’s beat.

So on one Thursday even- no night, when he’d dragged himself back across 2 state lines and had to fight for his right to place on the subway, he doesn’t put up any fight when he finally pushes open the door of his and Lardo’s apartment and is immediately tackled into a bear hug. He just whimpers slightly and goes limp.

‘Oh shit! Fuck, Bits. I’m sorry! Are you hurt? Where does it hurt?’

He’s set back down again, painfully gently and there are large warm hands on his shoulders, thumbs nudging at his jaw to get him to lift his head. Eric just whimpers again and sags into the heat, swaying slightly while Hurricane Shitty Knight flaps and panics and clucks around him.

‘I’m fine Shitty. I’m fine, I’m just beat. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.’

He’s not quite sure how it happens but there is a pair of hands under his armpits and suddenly he’s being carried and then there’s a sofa underneath him and a Lardo next to him and a blanket on top of him and then there’s not much else for a time.

He wakes up again when his stomach is chewing at its’ own lining. The lights are low and Shitty’s shirtless and flat out on the carpet at Eric’s feet, like an only slightly less hairy Alsatian. He shifts and the blanket falls off him with a rustle, slipping to the floor.

He tries to stand up and set off in search for something to eat. He gets the first part down. Then he tries transferring weight and knees decide that tendons were just there for decoration. The half second of hyperflexion drives him to the floor with a thud, sending him sprawling over Shitty’s calves.

Shitty comes back to life with a gurgled shout of shock and pain and then he’s peeling Eric off the floor, shushing his apologies and then his protests as Shitty slipped an arm under his knees and nestled him against his chest, making his way towards the warm light of the kitchen.

‘Delivery of one tired and hungry Bits.’ Shitty slipped Eric onto the kitchen counter, the cold stainless steel a shock even through his jeans.

Lardo appeared in front of him with a bowl of noodle soup and chopsticks and shoved both into his unresisting hands. ‘Eat,’ she commanded, then turned away muttering ‘savage’ as he forwent the utensils and stuck his face immediately into the phở.

Shitty just made a noise of slight sympathy as Eric came up for air and hissed as he straightened out his back. ‘Lower back still giving you issues?’

He nodded weakly. The injury was a year old now and ought to have been completely healed, and if it wasn’t for the fact he was dancing with someone 4, fine, 4.5 inches taller than him. The fact that they were still trying to hash out the ballroom hold between them meant there was bending and twisting happening which wasn’t really meant to be. 

‘Once we get the logistics of the hold sorted, we ought to be dandy,’ Eric murmured, diving back into the bowl.

‘Well, mine’s going well. We’d be doing better if he spent less time on the bookie apps and more time on the choreography, but he’s not bad. Not bad at all. Maybe if he stopped suggesting we do a bit piece for our training diary that would involve me getting on a horse I’d like him more.’

‘Oh, you should so do that!’

‘Not happening Shits.’

‘You cannot deny me the image of you astride a noble steed.’

‘You’ve a vivid imagination, use it.’

‘Or on a fat little Shetland pony, little legs going crazy.’

‘Do not get on a Shetland.’ Eric gasped as he chugged the last of the broth. ‘Closer to the ground, closer to the Devil.’

‘See,’ Lardo grinned lazily, ‘Bitty values my health and wellbeing over fleeting amusement.’

‘I also need you alive and fighting fit after this madness is over,’ and Lardo snorted at his exhausted attempt at a scowl. ‘We lost half a season’s competition last time one of us was injured and that resulted in this madness!’

‘I love how you say ‘one of us’ like there’s an equal distribution of blame.’

‘Is he actually gambling when you are meant to be rehearsing?’

‘No,’ Lardo took the empty but still faintly steaming bowl out of Eric’s unresisting fingers and placed it under a running tap. ‘He uses them to keep track of how his horses are going, and he likes to be smug when the big name bookies get it wrong.’

Eric felt himself rocking ever so slightly from side to side as he tried not to be jealous of Lardo. Or rather, Lardo’s situation.

Her partner was a third of a head taller than her, was a retired jockey, lived in New York, owned a racing stud not too far from the city and, apart from a few ungodly hours each morning when he was training this season’s hopefuls, he was able to commit most of his day to training. Alicia had to stay up north; that’s where her family was, that’s where her work and her causes were. So that’s where Eric had to go. He wished he could go back in time a few weeks and confront himself as he smiled and genuinely believed the travel would not be a problem when it was all agreed. Eric would have shaken himself and advised stocking up on caffeine.

Idiot.

Lardo poked him in the knee as he continued to glare at not much. ‘So I’ve told you about my week, how’s yours’ going?’

‘That was not a week’s worth that.’

‘Well, no, but we want to hear about you and Alicia are doing.’

Eric looked down at his left knee. Shitty’s contented smile was mainly obscured by the moustache but he’d folded his arms on the countertop next to Eric and propped his chin on top. Looking up at Eric expectantly like that, Eric could almost see the wagging tail. He reached out and scratched the top of Shitty’s head.

‘Fine, but I’m so far gone you’re gonna have to catch up. Shitty, I know you won’t ask but your usual tea caddy-‘

It was like someone had said ‘walkies’.

Shitty hauled himself up from where’d been kneeling on the tiles, the momentum carrying on until he pressed a loud kiss on Eric’s cheek. ‘Bits, you are a king among peasants.’ He took off for the broom cupboard that had been re-classed as a pantry as Eric scrubbed at his cheek.

***

Eric had sort of been there right from the very start of the phenomenon that was Lardo and Shitty and he’d been the first to experience the blast front.

Lardo is the daughter of first-generation Vietnamese immigrants. Two beautiful old souls from Danang, came to America for everything America offered in the advertisement.

And, like so many, they ran aground on what was left out of the small print.

They’d met Shitty at the law firm she was at when she was fighting for their visa renewals.

The registrar they’d been in with had been condescending and unhelpful. Eric had gone along as moral support and an advocate for the Duans, planning just to sit quietly, but had exhausted himself applying every ounce of Southern charm he had in him to try and get somewhere.

Anywhere.

Anywhere that wasn’t sat across this man desk, watching this man pay more attention to the task of sucking morsels of lunch from between his teeth than to them and their case.

When he finally contributed to the conversation and asked a few questions about Lardo and her role as sponsor; her education, her career, he made a leery comment about her when he read her profession was a dancer. Eric can’t remember exactly what he’d said, something about her making a deal to keep her parents in the country. He just remembers the tone, a smile like an oil slick and the feeling of his own nostrils flaring in rage. Then clamping a hand down on Lardo’s forearm as she gripped the office chair in preparation for launching herself at the man, nails first.

Before she could shake Eric off, Shitty’s head had appeared around the door jamb and loudly declared, with no real ceremony, ‘Right, that’s it. I quit this shit show. Ma’am, I have no idea what your case is but I'm taking it.’

They’d followed him out without a word, Lardo still white-knuckled and livid and true to his word, Shitty had set up shop at a coffee shop a block down the street and taken her parent’s case. He’d dispensed legal advice from a careworn leather armchair and a beaten up laptop and given Lardo a business card with the better part of the name struck through with sharpie. ‘It’s ‘Shitty’’, he’d said with a faint shrug and an even fainter blush. ‘Unless I’m in court. Then it’s ‘Counsellor’ or ‘Mr Knight’.’

At the time, Eric had quietly thought his best friend crazy for betting her parents’ future in this country on this madman but, he’d be damned, the man was as good as his word. Eric doesn’t understand a word of what Shitty’s when he starts talking ‘legalese’ but as far as he understands it; Shitty had had some experience with immigration law, and now works with different boards and organisations working with international professional athletes playing in the USA. As well as the odd bit of freelance stuff for different charity causes. He doesn’t fully comprehend and Shitty doesn’t try to make him.

Eric just remembers sitting there in the court somewhat shell-shocked as Counsellor B. S. Knight, in a thrifted but well-tended suit and with flowers in his braided hair, proceeded to ‘Elle Woods’ his way to a favourable ruling.

That had taken a few months though, from the coffee shop meeting to the ruling, and in that time, Lardo had more than once and more than quietly voiced her intention to climb him like a tree. She’d asked him out not half an hour after the ruling was announced and he’d blushed pinker than the Gerbera behind his ear. What came next was a very awkward and faltering confessional along the lines of ‘Oh God, I would like to, yes please, but this is problematic, because I promised myself I would never date any of my clients and I know you’re no longer a client but it’s still very fresh and I think I really like you, but I’d feel like scum considering what situation you were in when we met-‘

Mercifully, she’d cut him off with a gentle smile. She flicked his defaced business card back and forth between the fingers of one hand and smiled coyly. Eric hadn’t known Lardo did ‘coy’. ‘I’ll give you a call in a month then?’

He’d flushed further and as they’d walked away, he’d been grinning at his feet and emitting a very soft but high-pitched noise, Lardo had amended her previous statement.

She intended to _lovingly_ climb him like a tree.  

That had been a little over 2 years ago.

He and Lardo were so good for each other. They both understood the strains of the other’s career and were supporting and dutiful and to be perfectly honest, so sickening in love. They didn’t refer to each other as ‘girlfriend/boyfriend’ and both of them had curled a lip at ‘significant other’. They liked to use ‘partner’, no matter the confusion it caused. Was Lardo talking about her dance partner or romantic partner in this story? Who knows, she’ll never tell! She also liked it because, well, partners in what? In a firm? In crime? It keeps them guessing Bits.

Although, in fairness, Shitty could never be mistaken for Lardo’s dance partner. You’d just needed to turn on music, any music that you couldn’t headbang to, and Shitty became as coordinated on a foal on ice and gleefully so. Also, he couldn’t carry a tune if he used a bucket, but likewise, he was cheerfully content to drag it along the ground behind him. He wasn’t allowed access to the iPod.

Eric really, really liked Shitty. When Eric had come out to him in a, in hindsight rather stupid attempt to say ‘no-need-to-worry-about-me-and-Lardo-we’re-just-friends’, Shitty had nodded solemnly and thanked Eric for trusting _him_. Eric had felt a bit stupid as Shitty told him to never worry about Shitty accusing him of anything. Even if Eric was interested, Shitty wasn’t going to mantle over Lardo and hiss at anyone who so much looked in her direction. She was her own woman. And Shitty wanted her to be her own woman, making her own choices. Eric may have been tearing up at the end.

But they’d kind of adopted each other. Shitty routinely referred to Eric as his son and Eric sometimes saw him as a big brother. Sometimes as the family pet.  

And if Eric spent enough of his time gushing at how wonderful Shitty and Lardo were together, maybe his own undercurrent of loneliness would go away.

***

_*The screen goes white with a whoosh.*_

_*There’s a scribbling sound as words appear, being written in a rough but legible hand.*_

Dancing Shi

_*There’s a pause then a scribble.*_

Dancing ~~Shi~~ Stuff

With Ransom and Holster

_*Ransom and Holster stand dejectedly shoulder to shoulder. Ransom is holding an ice bag to his cheek.*_

‘Hello again class. Can everyone remember what we learnt last week?’

‘Not to mess with ballroom dancers, their prized processions or their pre-show rituals, especially if the latter involves the former?’

‘Besides that Holster.’

_*Ransom shuffles closer to Holster, casting a nervous look over his shoulder at the waiting pair. Chris is glowering once again, wearing his prized hoodie and perched on the edge of a crate. Cait is looking coldly over her shoulder in their direction, arms crossed.*_

‘Said I’m sorry. You didn’t need to-‘

‘Her favourite musical is ‘Heathers’, Ransom. What does that tell you about her?’

_*Chris grins as Ransom hides the other side of Holster.*_

‘We were introduced to the Latin American dances, with the help of our two talented and gracious dancers here.’

_*Cait and Chris just raise an eyebrow at Holster in response. He carries on, undeterred.*_

‘And today, we’re looking at the other side of the coin. At the Ballroom dances. Once again Cait and Chris will be helping us demonstrate some of the basic moves and what each dance needs to catch the judges’ eye.’

‘We’re gonna jump straight in with a fan favourite; Tango.’

_*A voice off camera.*_

‘Yes?’

‘Exactly, Tango.’

_*Holster and Ransom are both wearing slowly growing grins.*_

‘What?’

_*Chris and Cait catch on. Chris purses his lips and looks disappointedly at the pair. Cait sighs and rolls her eyes. There are a few beats of silence. Another voice off camera.*_

‘Did you drag him down here just so you could make that joke?’

_*The pair of them continue to grin, turning to each other to share their joke, their shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. Chris’ eyes widen slightly and he leads Cait a few steps back. The first unknown voice off camera.*_

‘Whiskey, wait-‘

‘Oh sh-‘

_*Camera goes to black out.*_

_*Camera shot returns. The angle has changed, suggesting the camera is now on a tripod rather than being manually operated. Now Holster also has an ice bag on his jaw.*_

‘OK. So to re-cap.  We’ve learnt not to mess with ballroom dancers, their prized processions or their pre-show rituals, especially if the latter involves the former. And not to tease the new recruit cameraman when his overprotective sound recordist is within striking distance.’

_*Cait giggles from where she and Chris are still waiting in ballroom hold.*_

‘So, the Tango?’

‘We’re nursing our wounds here Chow, have some pity.’

‘Not a chance.’

‘Fine, fine. The Tango. Now it comes in two flavours, the Tango. We’ll start with the Ballroom Tango. This staccato dance has its’ structure in an 8-count basic, a simple combination of two slow walks and a Tango Close. Still with me? Chris, Cait, do your wonderful thing. Watch. Slow, slow, quick, quick, slow. Over a count of 8 beats.  resulting in a total of 8 counts. Making sure those feet are together on the final beat, the Tango Close.’

‘Once upon a time, the Tango was actually classed as a Latin dance, due to its’ history and its’ development. But it and the Jive traded places because all the other Latin dances have significant proportions danced out of hold. The Tango is famous for its’ strict, regimented hold. Give is a quick spin kids.’

_*Chris leads in a pivot that shows that Cait is slightly more on his right side than previously, and his hand is further across her back. Cait’s hand not held in Chris’ lies just under his right armpit, her palm parallel to the floor.*_

‘Now, judges are going to watch our dancers’ postures like hawks. Craig’s a stickler for arm and hand placement.’

‘Watch your thumbs!’

‘Oh God, do not give him any reason to critique your thumbs. We’ll be there half the night. But along with the hold, the judges want to see flexed knees, jabbing feet and staccato head movements. The kids in make-up and hair show their metal each time there’s a Tango and the ‘dos are perfect at the end.’

‘Also, drama. The Tango is all about drama and aggression and we want to see that.’

‘But if you think that dance had an atmosphere, allow us to introduce its’ sultry sister; the Argentine Tango. Oh, this one’s a beaut. Like the Paso told the story of a bullfight, the Argentine Tango is the story of the gauchos. The gauchos coming into town at the end of the day, going into a bar and finding a lady of the night.  It’s a raunchy little courtship that could be explained as ‘oh no officer, I was teaching him to dance’ if the local law enforcement turned up.’

‘This is proper Moulin Rouge ‘El Tango De Roxanne’ stuff. Everything is steamier, the hold is closer and much more contact- yup, like that…’

_*Chris has lowered his centre of gravity and widened his stance and Cait had effectively lain herself up his side, her hip on his.*_

‘The hand placement is different too, the hands are lower and apparently the lady’s meant to be checking for a wallet in the back pocket. That’s also what all the running-the-foot-up-the-man’s-leg this is about, checking to see what’s in his pockets.’

‘Always get the money up front people.’

‘Now the Argentine Tango needs to tell a story, to be fair it’s typically tragic, again ‘El Tango De Roxanne’, but in there you want very clever intricate leg and footwork. Jumps, lifts, drags. Lots of sharp kicks between and around each other’s legs.’

‘Gentlemen may want to invest in a box…’

‘Ooo, there’s a thought.’

_*A moment of silence passes between the two as they consider this. In the background, Cait and Chris are still moving, legs a blur.*_

‘OK, OK, steady on you two before you set the boards a’smoking. See we can’t even let the floor cool, we’ve got the Quickstep next!’

_*Chris looks over at him in concern. He looks around at their tight corner of a props unit they’ve invaded.*_

‘How are we going to demonstrate that in this space?’

‘I dunno, you’re the dancers. See what you can do.’

_*Ransom turns back to the camera, missing Chris and Cait shrug at each other before taking off in a Quickstep run. Quickstep run that takes them out of shot, around the back of the camera if the sound of footfalls was anything to go by, and back into shot on the other side. They throw in a rock step, and they’re off again.*_

‘OK, umm… Yeah, that works. As you can see, for brief snatches, at any rate, is the Quickstep. This slow, slow, quick, quick step sequence has to give the impression of you dancing on a hot tin roof, but effortlessly so. While it looks manic, there are very important aspects of hold, posture and movement. It’s fast but it’s not furious.’

‘Balance is a key component. We have seen more than a few thrills and spills at speed from the orchestra pit. You need to juggle speed with elegance, you need to float across the floor.’

_*Cait and Chris commence their 4 th lap of the area.*_

‘Right, enough, come back here. We’re slowing it down now. Come on. It’s Waltzing time.’

‘Ah, yes. The oldest and most revered, even more so than Len, of all the Ballroom dances. The Viennese Waltz came first in the 18th century and it was almost a case of running before you could walk. It’s a hard dance because it’s fast, but there’s only a limited number of steps to choose from. You’ve got a reverse turn-,’

_*Chris and Cait turn to the left.*_

‘a natural turn-‘

_*Chris and Cait turn to the right.*_

 ‘and a change step-’   

_*The pair execute a lunge and twist, bring their feet to a close.*_

‘to scatter amongst your 1-2-3s. Now this means this dance is tricky because there is NOWHERE TO HIDE! Everything is so basic, you cannot hide any mistakes or sloppy footwork. As well as the turns, for a good Viennese Waltz, you need a little rise and fall, swing and sway, and ideally something to combat the motion sickness. There are a lot of spins.’

‘The Viennese Waltz doesn’t really lend itself to a night of dancing. It’s high paced and hectic and makes socialising a bit hard at balls, where, you know all the upper classes did their socialising. So the English took the same steps, 3 beats to a bar, and slowed it down.’

_*Chris and Cait come out of a fleckerl and drop into a simple standard Waltz box step.*_

‘The elements remain similar, but now you’re even more exposed and the judges are likely to spot anything that goes awry. That rise and fall needs to be accentuated through the legs and swing needs to be coming from the shoulders.’

 ‘Now the Europeans, especially the British, they like their pomp, they like their elegance. They like to  really, really milk a dull atmosphere-’

‘You do realise, you’re insulting a good chunk of the professionals right?’

‘But we here, in the Good Ol’ U S of A, we decided,-’

‘Aren’t you Canadian?’

‘Besides the point, shut up Chris, we decided ‘No. No more. Take back your tea and your stuffy dancing ways. Here, we do things with STYLE’.’

‘In reality, the American Smooth didn’t come about as a result of the Boston Tea Party, but actually was inspired by the old Hollywood musicals and the likes of Fred and Ginger. Rans, you’re Canadian, you’re in the Common Wealth, I know you have a magazine photo of the Duchess of Camb-‘

‘Ut-Shay up-way about the oto-phay! Also, I’m trying blend in, shh!’

‘I’ll remind you of this conversation come July 1st, you see if I don’t. OK, so back to the American Smooth. Now it comes in flavours because the American Smooth is more a style that you then perform another dance in. Sorta like having a string quartet perform a cover of ‘All Star’.’

_*Cait pulls a face.*_

‘What, not a good analogy?’

‘Well, no, not quiet and now I’ve got that song stuck in my head.’

‘Sorry. Anyho, the American Smooth can be a Standard Waltz, a Viennese Waltz or a Foxtrot. The last is a big favourite really. Sometimes a Tango, but that tends to be more of a gamble. Now, it differs from competition to competition and event to event, but ruling on the show is that at least 40% of the dance has to be performed in hold.’

_*Chris and Cait slip back into hold.*_

‘But the other 60%, that’s where you can have your fun. You can have your side-by-side sequences, your storytelling, there’s more room to bring in props, and you can have 2 lifts-’

‘3.’

‘What Chris?’

_*Chris and Cait are demonstrating a side-by-side sequence.*_

‘Rules have been changed. Allowed 3 lifts this season.’

‘Did Brendan put in a petition?’

‘Don’t think so.’

‘So, wait, Season 5 he gets chewed out on national television for an illegal number of lifts and now they’ve just changed the- you know what, I’m not even asking why. I’m not gonna try and make sense of it.’

‘Brendan. Why is it always Brendan?’

‘It’s the Kiwi fight in him.’

‘Right, so, when you’re not getting into rows with the judges of technicalities, for the American Smooth, elegance and musicality are the watchwords. You want to make the audience believe that they are in an old Hollywood musical.’

‘Well, we’ve covered the Waltzes and Tangos you could have in an America Smooth, but there was one on that list we’ve yet to cover, and it’s also the last dance we’ll be covering today. It’s another offering from the glitz and glamour of old American show business. The Foxtrot.’

‘It’s a real favourite with our die-hard ballroom professionals. Anton loves it. It’s the most elegant, made up of graceful walks across the floor. But that does make it tricky to do well because it’s so easy to stuff up.’

‘You’ve got to maintain the smoothness, that gliding motion. There’s a touch of rise and fall, not as pronounced as the waltz, think ripples on water. The timing changes from fast to slow. And of course that classic ballroom hold.’   

‘And that, once again, is the end of today’s lesson. Now, no matter what the dancers throw at you all, you’ll know what you’re looking at.’

_*Chris looks over as he and Cait continue to sway.*_

‘What about the Charleston?’

‘Well, that’s not till late-‘

_*The pair spin so Cait can address Holster.*_

‘What about the Lindyhop?’

‘That was a one-off time-‘

‘The swing-a-thon?’

‘The show dance?’

‘The-’

‘Enough!’

_*Holster pushes his glasses up to pinch at the bridge of his nose.*_

‘Enough, get out of here you dancing monkeys, your earnings will be deposited in your changing rooms. One bag of peanuts each. Go on now, out with you!’

_*Giggling like school children, Cait and Chris disappear off camera, running off just to the left of shot. Ransom bumps his shoulder into Holster’s.*_

‘I know we kinda need them for the show to work, but these dancers are really more trouble than they’re worth.’

_*The quiet is interrupted by the sound of scribbling.*_

See you next time! 

Ransom and Holster

 

***

‘Bits, you are the best. You provide both the high and the munchies cure.’

Shitty, still shirtless and completely baked off 1 and a half ‘special’ brownies, grinned up at him from his spot on the carpet. He’d not contributed much whilst Eric had spoken about how training with Alicia was going and about Alicia herself. Which had been for about an hour and a half. He may be exhausted and he may have been working with her for a few weeks, but apparently, he was still able to gush about her.

‘No, you supply the high. I just present it in a manner that would be least offensive to any landlords or members of law enforcement who may stumble across it.’ Eric fixed Shitty with a pointed look, that appeared to fly straight past him. ‘You know,’ he added after a second, ‘the people you work with?’

Shitty waved a hand airily and Eric just sighed. If he’d had the energy, he may have thrown his hands up. He didn’t want to think about how he got away with this, but then again, considering what it was common knowledge what substances some bankers and lawyers chose to dabble with, Shitty was on the soft drinks by comparison. 

But it had its’ own dedicated ‘tea caddy’, own bowl, own utensils all the same.

‘And the people you work with, gonna work with, are awesome. Lardo is awesome.’ He flapped a hand against her knee and she smiled a slightly buzzed smile down at him. Eric notices that the spare half of a brownie was missing. ‘The frogs are awesome. Rans and Holtsy are awesome.’

‘Frogs?’ Eric mouthed at Lardo with a wrinkled brow but she waved him off good-naturedly, so he made the best mental note he could to ask the next morning.

‘And Alicia. Alicia, she is, a queeeeeeeen,’ Shitty giggled. ‘A queeeeeeeen. She’s amazing. So lovely, so kind. Such a great mum.’

‘She does seem really nice,’ Lardo murmurs. She’d caught Shitty’s flapping hand early and the lean forward to take it had sent her slumping into Eric’s shoulder. ‘That’s gotta to be fake.’ She peered up at Eric with a disgruntled face. ‘Please tell me she has some flaw. Something? Webbed feet? A tail? She seems perfect and _nice._ ’ She spat the last word out like it was lemon rind.

‘She doesn’t have a huge amount of confidence in her ability. And a quick temper.’

That brought Lardo’s head snapping up again. ‘Has she been mean to you? You hear things about models. Has she been mean? I’ll cut her if she’s been mean.’

‘To me? No. Oh no. To the punching bag in the studio corner and her own reflection? Yes.’

‘Is she a screamer?’

On the floor, Shitty curls into a ball and shakes with horrified giggles. Lardo realises what she’d said a few seconds later and crumpled into Eric’s shoulder again shaking with her own mirth.

‘In frustration,’ Eric sighs, rolling his eyes to the ceiling and shaking his head, fighting down a flush. ‘I have to look her in the face tomorrow,’ Eric looked over at the wall clock, ‘oh shoot, today. Please don’t put this sort of thing in my head.’

The two of them continued to snuffle and snort with giggles and Eric just sat back and allowed his embarrassment to burn itself out. He really ought to get to bed. He had the 8 am train to catch back up the East coast. But Lardo had him pinned, her weight across his knees as her giggles came in waves.

‘How do you even know Ms Zimmermann Shits?’ Eric accepted him imprisonment and settled back into the sofa cushions.

‘Oooooh, you’re still at the ‘Ms Zimmermann’ stage. She’ll put a stop to that, she will. Ah, but she and I, we have both partaken of the well of knowledge, and we drank deeeeeeeeeeeep.’

Eric squinted, working it out. ‘Samwell alumni?’

‘Two old Wellies,’ Shitty sang, or his version of singing at least. ‘I contacted her during my thesis and she was so helpful and niiiiiiiice and she kept in contact and has recommended me to clients and charities that need some help. I was so happy when she was paired with you. She’s like my pimp.’

‘No she’s really not.’

‘My sugar-mama.’

‘No Shitty.’

‘If she’s your sugar-mama, could I be her sugar-daughter-in-law or would there have to be an actual marriage to get sugar benefits?’

‘And with I’m going to bed.’

‘Oh no, nooooo, Bits, we’re sorry. You’re all the sugar we need. Nooooo come back.’

‘Shitty, get off me.’ Shitty resolutely clung to Eric’s calf, ignoring him. ‘I need that leg.’

‘But we’ve missed you,’ Shitty turned large watery eyes on Eric, gazing up at him from the floor. ‘We don’t see you so much. Anyway, Bits why you commuting?’

Eric just looked down at him, his brow crinkling in confusion.

‘Well I live here,’ he said slowly and clearly just in case he was up against the effects of the brownie ‘and the filming is here. And Alicia needs to be in Providence. That’s her home and where her work is. She comes down for show nights.’

‘Thank God ABC are footing the expenses,’ Lardo muttered into the upholstery where once there had been Eric’s knees.

‘Something with sponsoring and ad time,’ Eric says, half-hearted trying to tug his foot free again. Shitty’s got that look on his face that he sometimes gets when he’s imbibed. It says ‘there is a problem here and I am gonna fix it’.

‘Why don't you get a hotel up there?’ Eric chooses not to point out that half a minute ago Shitty was lamenting that he didn’t get to see him much as it was. But that was Shitty, even stoned. Your needs first.

Eric shook his hair. ‘I can't ask them to foot the bill. And I certainly cannot afford that. Even with the generous starting packet.’

‘Alicia could put you up. They’ve got a lovely house.’

‘No Shitty.’

‘Have you met the Zimmermen yet? Hey, hey! You get Bob on board and we could have sugar-parents!’

‘Good night you two!’

***

Where in the Cha Cha Cha, Alicia felt like she barely had time to breathe, let alone think, the Foxtrot was a comparatively sedate affair. All about being see and being shown off.

Which meant Alicia had enough time to make eye contact with members of the audience.

Alicia tried to relax the hand that was gripping Eric’s upper arm while in hold. Her white knuckles would be visible against his black tailcoat. Once they’d spun so she had her back to the judges, she flexed her hand and tried to wiggle her fingers as discreetly as she could.

She’d hoped that, maybe, with the first week out of the way, the nerves would dissipate a bit. But the additional week had only allowed them to percolate. There were more worries, in the same way, there was more fabric; the amethyst gown was beautiful but she was still aware that it didn’t hide her feet.

She had to concentrate on her feet. Pointed toes, stepping onto the heel of the feet, bring them together, raise the heels, transfer weight, glide, move, spin.

Steady.

She was trying to keep her back arched back. She was trying. But the fact that the eyes watching her couldn’t be distracted by showmanship and the flounce of a short skirt this time, she wanted to curl over Eric and hide the pair of them.

He smiled up at her as they navigated a tricky little turn right in front of the judges’ desk. Alicia tried to relax, tried to smile. It all passed in a flurry of amethyst satin and [Mandy’s beautiful singing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xTeiYN_Vq6E) and suddenly they were holding the final pose as the music died and the audience started clapping.

The critique was a little more pointed this week. There’s still a kindness to, well some of the judges, but after the first week as a buffer, there are initial congratulations and then notes.

Quite a few notes. Her top line, her posture and her obvious nerves are all discussed. Bruno coaxing and Darcy bolstering in turns. Len appreciated the classic steps but agreed with his colleagues that she had some work to do. But they agreed that her footwork had been lovely.

True to form, Craig was the most damning.

‘I was bored.’

Alicia felt Eric shrivel next to her. He kept his head up and nodded and thanked the judges for their feedback and took her arm as they climbed the stairs but Alicia saw his jaw tighten and felt him tremble ever so slightly as their scores were delivered.

They suffered a points slip; Darcy, Len and Bruno held steady on last week’s scores but Craig dropped them to a ‘5’. The boos echoed around the studio and even Darcy sent Craig a look. They were in the lower section of the middle third of the pack. There had been some noticeable improvements, some still floundering. They were in danger.

And the judges were just there for guidance. It was the general public that decides.

When their spotlight goes out above them a few hours later, Eric all but collapses into her arms in a hug and breathes for what seems the first time since the scores were announced. They escaped the first dance off and elimination and sweet Natalie Lowe and her coltish comedian partner are the first to not pass muster.

He doesn’t stop trembling for the rest of the evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've seen the results of the first elimination of SCD and I am so mad and upset and stamping my little feet.  
> Expect 100% more Pasha in this fic.


	5. American Smooth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Week 3, American Smooth.
> 
> Something's got to give.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can only apologize. This chapter was an utter swine to write.

Eric had never intended to cry on national television.

Ever.

‘You should have stormed this dance.’

 March may have thought she was being kind by going to Darcy first. Nurturing Darcy, encouraging Darcy. But all they got was a cleaner first incision as the dissection got underway.

‘This should have been your best dance to date and it was not. I look at the pair of you,’ she cast them both an outstretched hand and an imploring look, ‘and I see the ingredients for a brilliant partnership. But something is getting lost in the recipe. You both have the assets. Why aren’t you using them?’

There were murmuring from the crowd, no outright disagreement with what was being said and Eric felt his world narrowing.

‘Len? Do you have any words of advice?’ Bless March.

Eric dared to look up at the head judge and immediately wished he hadn’t. Len gaze was sharp and Eric felt trapped beneath it and the grim look on his face. ‘Eric. That,’ Len barked, leaning over the desk and pointing a rigid finger at the dance floor, ‘was not a good enough standard of dance. I mean, to do the grapevine, twice? Week one, we saw that this woman had potential. We are expecting so much from you two. I know your talent Eric, you can produce astonishing routines. That,’ and here he jabbed this finger at Eric and Eric rocked as if the digit could make contact, ‘wasn’t up to your standard. Indeed, I don’t think anything we’ve seen so far has been up to your standard.’ He wasn’t quite shouting but it was a near thing.

It was possibly a good thing Eric thought distractedly, at least that meant the words were getting through the white noise that was muffling everything else in his own head that wasn’t a litany of ‘I messed up, I failed her, I disappointed them, I let her down, I-’

‘If you make it through to next week,’ Len sighed and rested his elbows on the desktop, ‘and I really hope you do, you need to bring your best game to this floor.’

Eric tried to swallow as the crowd applauded encouragingly, but the smattering of only noise added to the confusion in his own head. He felt hot all over with shame and suddenly the neck of his dress shirt was too tight.

‘It is so frustrating,’ Bruno growled, ‘to see you both in this position. Eric, my darling, I know you are the new boy and this is all big and scary and you’ve got your own hurdles to overcome,’ he held his hands up to indicate the inches between Eric and Alicia’s heights, ‘but we are in Week 3, the training wheels need to come off now. Because the competition has well and truly started and it will leave you in the dust at this rate. My colleagues are right, we need more. What we are getting is danced well enough, but we need so much.’

‘I have to disagree with you there Bruno.’ Eric fought the urge to curl in on himself. Because he highly doubted Craig was about to come to their defence. He distantly felt Alicia’s arm around his shoulders. ‘As well as being dull and uninteresting, there were synchronisation issues in the out of hold section, your top line, again, was far too hunched, your hands were gripping onto him for dear life, darling, and where were the lifts?’ Craig’s lip curled as he asked incredulously. ‘I noticed this with your last dances, you have this opportunity to really ‘wow’ us as judges and as an audience and you're not even making an attempt! All in all, we were expected Hollywood and we got driftwood. At best.’

***

When March tries to send them on their way, Eric doesn't move at first. Alicia took a step forward to get out of the firing line, only to have her arm held fast like a tether trailing behind her. Eric was staring glassily at a point on the front of the judges’ desk with an expression so lost and so strikingly familiar her blood chilled.

Alicia’s breath came sharp and she felt her hackles rising against her better judgement. She stepped back to his side and wrapped her arm back around his shoulders. She wasn't sure he heard her when she whispered ‘Come on, mon etoile’ into his ear, but his feet moved under him. She kept her arm around him as they ascended the chairs to polite if somewhat shaken applause. The worried and compassionate faces of their few competitors waited for them at the top of the stairs. She had to let go of him to make it over to April’s side, but Larissa and Derek took an elbow each and bore him forward to his mark. Alicia carefully puts herself between Eric and April. She knows April would never be unkind and indeed the young woman’s face is twisted in a sympathetic wince as she went over what the judges had said and asked, face apologising all the while, if they felt that was fair.

Eric didn’t answer. Eric didn't really look up, just stared blankly down at the polished toes of his shoes. She kept a hand wrapped around his wrist. She may have been imagining it, but his pulse felt thready under her fingers. She gripped harder.

She made no excuses. Yes, they were tired. Yes, the routine was on the simple side.

Yes, they have plenty more to bring to the show.

Their scores are damning. Craig dusts off the ‘3’ paddle and the other three are not that much more generous.

They have a score of 17.

17.

They aren't at the very bottom but it's not by much. Chris and Marisha are there after a very ropey Rumba, one that left Bruno giggling helplessly into Len’s shoulder. But that’s what Chris and Geneva do. They make people laugh and smile and root for them because, while Geneva appears to barely have feet, never mind two left ones, they have so much fun with it.

Once the attention is off them, another pair on the dance floor, Alicia looks to her left and Eric has gone.

***

He reappeared, as quietly as he’d left, literally a few strides ahead of Ford. He slipped into the green room, hugging the wall and eyes down as Ford knocked her headset off one ear and hollered for everyone to be in position for the dance off roll call.

He finally looks up when she got close enough that he was staring at her shoes. She was ready for him when he did and she smiled encouraging at his red and glassy eyes.

‘I’m so so-’

She swooped in to hug him, muffling the apology against her own shoulder. Eric stiffened for split second but went limp against her, resting his forehead against her collarbone as she swept a hand up and down his back.

‘We’ll have a talk a little later alright?’ she murmured against his ear. She could see Ford shifting from foot to foot out the corner of her eye, torn between wanting to give them a moment but also keenly aware that this is live television and there’s a schedule to follow here.

‘OK.’

His voice was so small as she stepped back and took his hand again and led him through the door. Ford did a quick sweep of the room and followed them down the corridor, through the wings of the studio. Ford whispered a ‘good luck’ as she joined the small army behind the banks of cameras and Alicia and Eric followed the rest of the herd out in front of the audience, out onto the boards and under their spotlight.

The light went red.

***

_*The screen goes white with a whoosh.*_

_*There’s a scribbling sound as words appear, being written in a rough but legible hand.*_

Dancing Shi

_*There’s a pause then a scribble.*_

Dancing ~~Shi~~ Stuff

With Ransom and Holster

_*The shot opens on a shot of the judges' desk. The seats appear empty. The precession and horns of the theme of ‘Master Mind’ plays. With each beat of the drum, the angle of the shot changes. With the last key change, the last blast from the horns, Ransom and Holster jackknife up to sit in the two middle seats. The pair are wearing black thick-framed glasses.*_

‘Good evening, and welcome to Dancing With The Stars.’

‘In previous editions' we have introduced you to dances, both Ballroom and Latin. This evening we seek to introduce you to some of the talented souls who will be doing their best not to butcher those dances. We have a new group of contestants who hope to dazzle us with their knowledge of their chosen subjects.’

‘Let's meet our contestants.’

_*Overlaid shots show a selection of dancers making their way to a large leather armchair in the middle of the dance floor facing the judges' desk with the Master Mind theme playing. There's a shot of each of the dancers looking forward in a variety of degrees of nervous.*_

_*Ransom removes his glasses.*_

‘Now you may notice that we’ve only got 6 of the class of 2017, but if we had everyone, we’d be here all night.’

‘So we have the young blood. The dancers who are new or new-ish and who you may not have gotten to know yet.’

‘…..Aren't you going to take those off?’

‘No, Ransom, I am not.’

_*Holster grins rakishly into the camera, finger and thumb bracketing his chin.*_

‘I feel these make me look even more devilishly handsome than I otherwise-’

‘You forgot your contacts didn’t you.’

‘….Yes. Yes, indeed. It’s true; I wear these because I’m very nearly blind.’

‘.....No game whatsoever. Anyway, on to business. Dancers, name.’

_*The shot shows each dancer as they talk.*_

Derek: Derek ‘Nursey’ Nurse.

_*He winks at the camera.*_

Will: William Pointdexter, but I go by Dex.

Larissa: You earn the right to refer to me as Larissa Duan. It’s Lardo to the rest of you.

Chris: Hi, I’m Christopher Chow. But everyone calls me Chowder. Or Chow. Or Chis.

Caitlin: Caitlin Farmer. Usually just Cait or Farms.

Eric: Umm, hey y’all. I’m Eric Bittle. Bitty really.

‘Speciality.’

Derek: Latin.

Will: Ballroom.

Larissa: Latin.

Chris: Latin.

Caitlin: Ballroom.

Eric: Ballroom.

‘Favourite dance.’

Derek: Probably Salsa.

Chris: I’d have to say Paso.

Caitlin: I am a Ballroom girl but I do so love dancing Paso with Chris.

_*Ransom and Holster shout ‘FOOIIINE’ off camera. She just glares at them.*_

Will: Rumba.

_*There’s a pause. Dex face turns incredulous.*_

Will: What?

Larissa: Jive or Quickstep. Hey, I’m not choosing.

Eric: Oh, umm, I do like a good Viennese Waltz.

_*The camera cuts back to Ransom and Holster behind the desk. The pair make a show of shuffling their cue cards.*_

‘And now, Rans if you’re ready?’

‘Ready when you are.’

‘We’ll start with general knowledge.’

_*A cue card fills the screen.*_

**How did you start dancing?**

Will: I went along with my sisters. They are always crying out for boys in classes. Most of them stopped going after a while, Katie’s still dancing though.

Derek: Ummi had to take me along to a yoga class once when I was a tot and I spent the hour with my nose pressed against the window to the class going on across the hall.

Larissa: Wanted to learn how to dance like the princesses in movies.

_*She gives the two boys a pointed look and a moment to laugh. They, wisely, don’t.*_

Larissa: ‘I think my parents were determined I burnt off the energy somehow.

Caitlin: I was the clumsiest kid you’d ever seen. Mum and Dad hoped that lessons would give me a better understanding of grace and balance.

 _*Chris off-screen.*_ ‘You still trip over your own feet occasionally.’

Caitlin: Yeah, only when I’m not tripping over yours. And hey, do not come for me, you introduced yourself by knocking me to the floor!

Chris: Me and my sister Jess went to classes together pretty young. We were junior pairs champs but she gave it up to concentrate on her music more.

Ransom: Oh, so, what she a singer then? Would we know any of her stuff?

Chris: No, she’s is a conductor. She’s currently touring with the NY symphony orchestra.

Ransom: ….Why am I not even surprised?

Eric: My grandma took me along one day when my skating had to be cancelled for a few months and I never looked back.

Holster: You skate?

Eric: No really now. But used to; figure mainly, bit of hockey.

**Single or taken?**

Derek: Single. 

Chris: Taken.

_*Caitlin barrels into shot and drapes herself over his shoulders, a gleeful look on her face.*_

Caitlin: YEAH HE IS!

Ransom: We WILL fine you two! Behave!

Will: Single.

Larissa: I have my main squeeze.

Eric: Umm, single.

_*Blushes furiously and flaps a hand at Ransom and Holster.*_

**Favourite food?**

Eric: Oh gosh, umm…. Oh I don’t know…

Will: I like seafood. Actually, I could really go for a lobster roll right about now.

Eric: Erm, oh I know…. Wait, no…. umm….

Derek: Pizza.

_*He leans forwards and looks directly into the camera.*_

Derek: Proper, New York, crispy crust, thin dish. Pizza you can fold and eat without biting.

Chris: Donuts. I really like doughnuts.

Eric: Oh, oh, I like….. umm….. uh….

Caitlin: Strawberries. And pancakes. Ideally both. With lots of cream.

Larissa: Bitty’s chocolate pecan pie.

Eric: ….. Does Brunch count?

**Party trick?**

Derek: I can recite the entirety of Chaucer’s The Wife of Bath’s Tale.

Ransom: We said PARTY Nursey. What parties are you attending?’

_*Nursey shrugs grinning.*_

Chris: _*Doesn’t say anything. Just stands up and looks directly into the camera with a deadpan expression. Then drops into a split and raises his arms in triumph. His face never changes.*_

Caitlin: _*Sticks her fingers in her mouth and_ _lets rip an ear-splitting whistle.*_

Will: _*Handstands. Goes to one hand, then the other. Then does handstand push-ups.*_

Larissa: _*Moonwalks from right to left.*_

Eric: I can do a quad Lutz on a good day.

**Favourite animal?**

Chris: SHARKS!

Derek: I like penguins.

Caitlin: Red panda.

Larissa: Wolves. But ducklings are the bomb.

Will: Wolverines. Have you seen those guys? So cool.

Eric: I really like rabbits.

**Pre-show rituals?**

Will: Left shoe on first.

Larissa: Sketching usually. It’s more to calm myself down.

Derek: Visit my loogie spot.

_*Eric makes a horrified noise off camera.*_

Caitlin: Usually singing the score of my current musical obsession.

Chris: AT THE TOP OF HER LUNGS!

Caitlin: How else do you sing ‘History Has Its’ Eyes On You’?

Chris: I kinda sleep…. A lot… Usually in people’s way.

Eric: I have a playlist to pump myself up.

**If you weren't a dancer what would you be doing?**

Derek: I’d think I’d make a good roaming poet.

Holster: You are living this Chaucer fantasy of yours, aren’t you.

Chris: Something in computing… Rans, before you say anything about stereotyping, it’s what I majored in.

Caitlin: I’d like to work with animals in some way.

Will: Probably a mechanic of some sort? I’m pretty good at fixing things.

Larissa: Struggling artist. That’s an actual career choice, right?

Eric: Ummm…. Pastry chef maybe. Or a figure skater.

**What are you like drunk?**

Derek: I don’t really change, I just become more suave, sophisticated, eloquent. 

Will: If Nursey says anything other than a hot mess, he’s a damn liar.

Chris: I go red in about half a can, in 1 can I’m a giggling idiot, by 2 cans I’m happily snoozing on any flat surface.

Caitlin:…..Umm, shall we see I get, umm, over-affectionate?

Will: _*Turns his phone to the camera to footage playing of Cait curled over Chris, who’s asleep on the floor, pawing at him and mewling.*_

Larissa: I don’t get drunk. I get awesome… Until I just drop.

Eric: I will get overly emotionally invested in whatever music is playing and will start singing along.

Will: I can’t remember the last time I got drunk. I send my nights out corralling this lot.

**Biggest fear?**

Will: Failure.

_*He smiles ruefully at the camera.*_

Will: Did that get too real too fast?

Larissa: The prospect that I will never find a worthy beer-pong opponent.

Derek: Probably heights. Well, really, falling from said heights.

Chris:  Disappointing people probably.

Caitlin: I really, really, cannot handle snakes.

Eric: I, umm, I don’t really like enclosed spaces. And disappointing people too.

_*Ransom and Holster look at each other a little worriedly.*_

‘And here we were hoping for blackmail material.’

 _*Eric’s disappointed voice off screen.*_ ‘Haven’t you two learnt your lesson yet?’*

_*Ransom and Holster, in tandem, screw up the notes and toss the balled paper over their shoulders and out of shot.*_

_*The quiet is interrupted by the sound of scribbling.*_

See you next time! 

Ransom and Holster

***

By the end of the night, Eric is crying.

Ugly bubbling sobs.

Once the closing statements had been filmed and the reaction shots have been captured, the cameras leave the dance floor. He’s left alone for a moment, the butterfly in the eye of the hurricane.

He feels it. Ragged and torn at the edges. Hollowed out and exhausted. His vision swims at the edges, the tears threatening to spill blurring the lines of the floorboards. His back ached still but not as much as his chest did.

Not as much as his throat did. His breath rattled around the lump in his throat, a breathy little wheeze with every exhale. The air scraping his windpipe raw going up and down.

His tailcoat hung limply from his fist, the tails trailing on the floor like a downed kite. He could feel the sweat-damp shirt drying under the heat of the lights. His skin prickled with cold, even with the heat for the lights and a few hundred people in the room. He's chilled and every once in a while a fresh wave of ice trickled into his blood as it hits him again.

He'd messed up.

He'd let her down. He'd embarrassed himself. He’d disappointed the judges.

He was not ready for this journey to end.

There was a roaring in his ears.

He needed to find Dex.

***

Dex had already stripped down to his trousers by the time Eric made it to the dressing room he was sharing with a handful of the other professional dancers. Eric watched distantly as he folded his dress shirt and lay it over the back of his chair, his suspenders bouncing as he shuffled back and forth tidying his station. Eric had his fist raised to knock on the door frame, but he just watched as Dex moved back and forth, packing away toiletries and tearing make-up wipes out of the pack.

Dex caught Eric off guard. Eric had been communing with the carpet trying to find his nerve when the lack of noise suggesting movement brought his head snapping up. Dex held his eye in the mirror, makeup wipe pressed to one cheek and already smuggled beige.

‘Eric.’ Dex’s voice was a little on the hoarse side and he looked drained, but his smile was warm, even the half of it hiding behind the face wipe. He dragged across the bridge of his nose, and when he turned around, his freckles were starting to bloom through the layers of stage make-up. He flopped into his chair and shuffled to prevent the momentum for turning his back on Eric again.

And still, he was smiling.

‘Well done out there tonight. You really pulled it together in the end. Took some nerve, mate.’ It was getting bigger. That smile was creeping towards his eyes even as he leant forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, his hands hanging between his knees. ‘She did really well too, she corrected that side-by-side timing issue you guys had-‘

‘I’m sorry.’

Eric’s chest was tight. Painfully tight. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t see.

‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Y’all should have gotten through. I messed up. I shouldn’t have made it through. You… you’ve been working so hard and long here, and I’m here, swanning in and taking your spot, and if you hate me, I understand, and I’ve don’t deser-‘

He was sobbing now. Fat tears rolling down over his hot cheeks. He didn’t see Dex’s expression change, didn’t see the jovial light leave his face. Eric’s hiccupping ramble was cut off with a squeak when his cheek impacted gently with a bare pec.

‘Enough of that.’ A heavy arm settled across Eric’s shoulders and Dex tugged him in a hug and a brief bolstering shake. ‘Hey, Bitty, no. Enough of that. Hey, look at me.’ Eric had to crane a little to look up into Dex’s earnest face. He rocked slightly as the weight on his shoulders shifted, two warm palms weighing him down, preventing him from flying apart. ‘Bits. C’mon, you can’t think like that. You can’t think that. You were chosen to be part of this team, this team Bits. Because we are a team here. You were chosen because you are good at what you do, you are brilliant. You deserve to be here. I don’t know what’s happening in there,’ Dex gently raps a knuckle against Eric’s forehead. ‘But you’ll get through this, this road bump. You’re gonna need to change something up, because the Eric Bittle I’ve been seeing isn’t quite the Eric Bittle of the US National Latin Championship 2016. I remember that Salsa you and Lards pulled out of the bag. You’ve got so much to give this show Bitty. And we better see it. You’ve knocked me out of the competition, you better go far now, the pair of you, do you hear me?’

Eric didn’t know where to look. His breath still rattled in his chest and the only things that prevented him bolting for the door or doing his best to slip through the floorboards were Dex’s warm hands still on his shoulders.

‘But,’ and it was barely above a whisper, ‘you shouldn’t have had to lose out to me. You shouldn’t be leaving in the second week.’ It was like the words were clawing their way up his throat, queuing up on his tongue, choking him.

Dex sighed and gave him another little shake. ‘Bits, if it was down to seniority, Anton would be lifting the glitterball already. Hell, he’s been dancing longer than most of us have been alive.’ Dex huffed once more and gently towed Eric in for a hug, wrapping his arms easily around Eric’s torso. ‘Keep a secret mate?’

‘Wha?’

‘If we hadn’t been eliminated this week, I would have broken my own leg.’

‘What!?’ Eric reared back as if Dex has struck him. His weakened legs rebelled with the sudden movement and his knees spooked sideways. Dex caught him, steadying him with a hand on each upper arm. He took a deep breath, lowering his head slightly and looked seriously down at Eric from under lowered brows.

‘That women,’ he said tightly, ‘is vile. If I'd had to work with her for another week, one of us would have been hospitalised, and inflicting injury on myself would have been safer. I’d avoid prosecution that way.’

Eric tried to think of Dex’s partner, his thoughts like static and the headache growing behind his eyes was making everything harder.

Whitney Brant.

Eric, if pressed, would have a hard time saying just what exactly Miss Brant did. Socialite, model, TV personality? She might have had a jewellery line? But while Miss Brant wasn’t too defined, Daddy Brant certainly was.

As were his views, political and personal.

Although he did seem more than content to stir the two into one confused and worrying mess, despite his role as Secretary of the Interior.

‘Let’s just say,’ Dex muttered, ‘the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree. She was a terrible partner. Yes, she’s got the looks but she wouldn’t know hard work if it bit her on the ass. She spent the majority of rehearsals on the phone to her publicist. Whilst I was trying to plan routines, she was trying to see which events she could appear at with me on her arm. She was hashing out the ‘dance romance’ plotline with her people me on the other side of the room. And-‘ Eric blinked and reached a hand out to rest on Dex’s arm as Dex’s face darkened. ‘And, OK that was bad, but if… if I’d had to listen to her talk any more about Nursey, or Oti, or Ransom or you… If I had to hear her use that language again, so casually…’

‘Wha? What did she-‘ Dex cut Eric’s plaintive question short by just bundling him closer.

‘Nothing I am willing to repeat. I’m sorry Bits, I tried to tell her that shit doesn’t fly but the cameras and I know they are careful with editing but you can’t risk that on film and, she never bloody listened. To anything. You did me a favour.’ He sighed once more, not so much in defeat and resignation but more in acceptance, and gently pulled back, chuckling softly when he looked down at Eric.

Eric was only vaguely aware of movement, more due to the lack of heat than anything else. His mind is going a mile a minute and his eyes are glassy and far away, completely missing when Dex bobs down slightly to look at him, concern written large across his face.

_Well done out there tonight… You were chosen to be part of this team… We are a team here… You are brilliant… You deserve to be here…_

_You deserve to be here…_

_You deserve..._

***

Dex didn’t react immediately or indeed well to what happened next.

Eric had stilled in his hands, his glassy expression shimmering as tears started to well in his eyes. His chin dropped down to his chest as Dex watched, his dishevelled fringe falling in front of his eyes. Dex took a breath and opened his mouth with no real idea of what to say next, when he was cut off by a noise. A small, thin, wounded noise. A keening coming from between clenched teeth.

Dex froze in something akin to horror as the first tears slipped into view. Eric’s shoulders were quaking under his hands and Dex could tell it was taking all the lad had to stay on his feet. He knew Eric was technically older than him, but he was the new guy. Dex remembered being the new boy and it was stressful enough when it had been the five of them staring out. The attention but then also the expectations, the new surroundings, the new faces. On both his series, Dex had been lucky to have partners who were based in New York; his commute had never been over an hour, although with Whitney, he'd tried to make it stretch. But he could see the bags under Eric’s eyes even when the stage makeup had been trying to hide it. He'd heard Lardo worrying quietly about him.

‘Ah, Bits. No, c’mere.’

Dex drew Eric close again, wrapping both arms solidly around his back and as soon as Eric’s nose bumped off Dex’s chest, Eric bawled.

Dex braced as the last of Eric’s strength left him, leaving him sagging at the knees. He straightened, supporting Eric's dead weight and started swaying ever so slightly, purely out of habit. He kept up his litany of hushed words and just let Eric cry himself out. He'd stand here all night if he needed to.

There were slight scuffles of movement in the corridor and the murmur of laughter and chirping. Pasha made it through the door first, his easy grin slipping away immediately as he stopped just over the threshold. Neil didn't manage to kill his momentum in time and stumbled into him slightly. Nursey, by some miracle, caught himself on the door frame. All stood and stared as Eric desperately tried and failed to bring himself under control.

Dex beckoned the three in over Eric's head as best he could.

‘Is everything alright?’ Neil asked, resting an easy hand on Eric’s back.

‘Umm… Not really, no. Look,’ Dex squeezed his arms a little tighter as Eric hiccuped. ‘Could you guys find Lardo for us?’

‘Sure!’ Pasha said, perking up now he had a mission. ‘Neil? She’s sharing with Katya and Jo, could you check if she that way and I will check the studio?’

‘Plan,’ Neil nodded in agreement and the two of them headed out the door again with all the seriousness of them making a foray into enemy territory.

‘Anything I can do?’ Nursey looked a little awkward, leaning his weight against the back of his chair then changing his mind and shifting from foot to foot then leaning back on the chair.

‘Don't think so bro.’ Dex looked down at the top of Eric's head. ‘Don't think so.’

They wait in a slightly strained silence, broken only by Eric’s gradually slowing hiccuping breaths and the rustle of Nursey’s hand sweeping back and forth over Eric’s back. Dec and Nursey shared the odd look now and again, neither of them certain of what to do beyond waiting.

It wasn't too long until Lardo came through the door, Pasha not a stride behind. She took one look at the room, at Eric’s bowed back and let out a sigh too big and too heavy for her slight frame.

‘C’mon Bits. C’mon, let's get you back to your dressing room.’ She slung an arm around his back and tried to pull him away from Dex’s unresisting arms. He didn't move really, just listed heavily in the direction she tried to tow him in. The men in the room watched as Lardo squared her shoulders and her voice slipped from comforting into something with a little more steel in it.

‘Eric. We are going back to your dressing room now. You are going to get change and scrub down. Let’s go.’

She made to set off again, and this time Eric followed without giving any indication of having heard her at all.

The boys watched in slight confusion as she frog-marched her partner from the room, pausing to turn at the door and mouth a heartfelt thank you back to them all over Eric’s shoulder, before disappearing into the corridor.

***

Lardo set about the task of scrubbing Eric down and getting him out of his kit and into his civvies. Chris and Brendon had both turned when she’d entered, their expressions of relief at Eric being OK slipping when his red-rimmed eyes made it clear that he was not, in fact, OK. The two lads each took a knee in front of Eric without a word when Lardo guided him down into a chair, deft fingers making short work of the laces of his shoes. Lardo stepped away and came back with a pack of makeup removal wipes and proceeded to remove what hadn’t already yielded to tears or hadn’t been smeared across Dex’s chest. She slipped a hand under his chin, tilting his head up into the light a little more so she could see what she was doing. He blinked blearily up at her once the wipes passed over his tired eyes.

‘Hey there,’ she murmured, dragging the wipe down the bridge of his nose. ‘You back with us?’ She got a few quick blinks and a small wounded sort of noise in response. ‘Lost you for a moment there didn't we.’

Chris looked up at her with a furrowed brow and Brendon gave Eric’s bare ankle a squeeze and rocked back on his heels. He hauled himself upright, wincing slightly as his knees straightened out. He took a long look at Eric’s drawn face and sighed, dropping a hand down and squeezing his knee. ‘You'll be alright mate,’ he said quietly before heading over to his own station and starting the process of decamping. Chris scooted on the Lino floor, sweeping his long legs around until he sat cross-legged beside Eric's feet, the look of concern still on his face.

Lardo looked down at Chris, hard, for a moment before silently passing judgement. His hadn’t been the only worried face in connection to Eric pointed her this evening. When Pasha had found her, Darcy had been speaking to her. She’d been worried about him after the critique. About how he just… Darcy had waved her hands helplessly in the air before her, unable to find the words.

‘Bits?,’ his gaze swung around with all the attentiveness of a lighthouse beam. ‘Bitty, I know you've got a lot on your shoulders right now, a lot rattling around that head of yours. But,’ and she hunkered down so their eyes were level, ‘is it all circling around that one big problem?’

Eric couldn’t look her in the eye and it broke her heart to see him so defeated. ‘Yeah,’ he said, high and tight. ‘Yeah, it’s that.’

Lardo exhaled; it could have been a hiss, it could have been an expletive and knocked her forehead against his temple. ‘OK,’ she muttered. ‘OK, we’ll sort this, you’ll work through this, but first, we’ve got to get you dress.’ This she could deal with; she’s marshalled his butt for the last few years, she had shuffled him from pillar to post. She can deal with this first, they’ll deal with the issue later.

Exactly how they were going to address the fact that Eric, as a professional dancer, had a crippling fear of lifts when they’ve been hacking away at this mental block for years, she just didn't know at this point.

***

Once she’d visited wardrobe and make-up again, Alicia snatched up her coat and over large handbag and set off into the bowels of the ABC building, her heels clicking with the sort of authoritative tone that had runners and floor hands deferentially flattening themselves to corridor walls. She appeared soundlessly in the doorway of the men’s changing room. So soundlessly, Chris started and Brendon tried to cover himself back up with the shirt he’d just stripped off. On any other day, Alicia may have made a quip about the years she’s spent in dressing rooms and how there was no need for modesty on her behalf, but she didn’t have the heart for it just now.

She found Eric, Larissa at his shoulder, dragging a careworn hoodie over his head. ‘Ah, Eric, there you are. Are you ready to go soon, dear?’

Eric reappeared over the He looked a little clearer in the eye now, she observed; red-rimmed but not as distant as he’d seemed at the judges’ verdict.

‘Oh, umm… Are you heading home?’ His voice was so small and worn.

‘No, we’re heading home.’

Larissa reacted first, her head snapping up. Actually, everyone in the room reacted before Eric did; Chris and Brendan both looking around. Eric continued to rustle slightly as he settled his layers.

‘Eric?’ Alicia said pointedly.

‘Yes?’

‘We are heading home. You are coming home with me.’

She watched as he blinked up at her, the moment her words made sense to him lighting his face like a sputtering candle.

‘Wha?’

Alicia squared her shoulders and held fast in the doorway. This wasn’t a battle as such in front of her; Eric was in such a state he could be knocked down with a feather right now. But this needed to be remedied and it called for a quick cure.

‘You are coming home with me. To Providence. We need to train. You need to rest. And I need to be in Providence. You are coming North with me. We have spare rooms, you will be staying with us Eric, you don’t need to worry about. We’ll find a studio to train in up there. Or, heck, we have a gym in the house, we can clear the floor!’

She sighed and pushed on when she got nothing back from him. She looked imploringly across to Larissa, but she wasn’t giving away much. Just the quickfire flick of her eyes from Alicia to Eric.

‘I’ve spoken to AD Murray, he said it’s fine. We are going to head back to your home now, Larissa, if that’s alright, and you can pack a few bags to see you through the week and then, we are going to head North, alright?’

‘Alright.’

Alicia tried not to let the shock show on her face. She’d psyched herself for a drawn-out battle of manners, some token protests or something but the boy just nodded once and then stepped away from Larissa and Alicia and towards his station, shaking hands gathering up his belonging and packing them away.

She caught Larissa’s eye and tried to be consoled by the relieved light in the young woman’s face. Alicia darted a quick look at Eric’s back, then to Larissa again. She doesn't quite know how to express her somewhat thwarted conviction and settles for staring somewhat wide-eyed at Larissa, shaking her splayed hands, silently grasping for an answer.

Larissa just looked at her with a mix of heartache and something close to pity and tapped a slim finger against her own temple meaningfully.

***

They didn’t get much out of Eric on the ride across town.

As soon as he was bundled into the waiting town car, Larissa having had to catch hold of the hood of his sweater before he set off towards the nearest subway station on autopilot, he curled up on himself. His flushed cheek was squished against the dark window, the heat of his breath gently fogging the glass as he gazed unseeingly ahead. Larissa had followed him in, tucking herself close to his side as if determined to put herself between him and the rest of the world. She’d drawn her phone out of some secret pocket and had clicked away a few times but now it rested dark on her knee with her only sparing it the odd glance. Alicia didn’t break the tired silence, just sank back into the cool leather and observed as Larissa and Eric fell into each other’s orbit.

He was well asleep by the time they pulled up beside their apartment building. Between them and their driver Josh, the two women managed to peel him out of the car. They left Josh to find a parking space and wait for their call and all but carry him up the stairs, Eric leaning heavily on Larissa. She had to prop him against Alicia and she fished again in that secret pocket for a truly intimidating bundle of key chains. Despite the jingle that could have been mistaken for a belfry, Larissa selected a key unerringly and the door was swinging open in short order.

Alicia found she was peering around the door jamb despite herself. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting; two young 20 somethings, professional athletes. She knew the equation.

But the living room the slightly cluttered hall gave way to was softly furnished and careworn with well broken in furniture, scatter cushions and woollen throws. The hanging frames housed art in a half a dozen different styles and photos were scattered throughout. The light was low in the room, a single standing bathing a corner of the sofa in warm gold light. There was the faint buzz of TV on low and the quiet groaning that follows someone snorting themselves awake.

A rather naked someone.

Shitty was sprawled across the sofa, his head thrown back against the back of the sofa. A corner of a throw doing its’ utmost to preserve the illusion of modesty.

‘Hey Lards. Hey Bits,’ Shitty mumbled. ‘Shit, hard night for you bro. You OK?’

‘Hello B.’

‘JESUS!’

Shitty’s eyes snapped open about the same time the rest of his body realised he was naked and in its confused state, was trying to stand respectfully to attention at the same time as trying to get the hell out of eye line. There was another unintelligible squawk and Shitty hit the floor in a tangle of blankets and furtive swearing.

Larissa sighed and flicked the overhead lights on. Shitty’s face blossomed like an autumn sunset.

‘Mrs Zimmermann! Hello, oh Lord. Umm, sorry about this umm…’

Lardo heaved another long-suffering sigh and took pity on him, striding forward and hocking a finger into his impromptu collar and towed him around and out of the room.  
The blanket hadn’t quite done its’ work on the reverse.

Alicia tried to smother the tired giggle and turned her attention back to Eric. He was standing lost in his own living room, watching as his flatmate’s retreat. Alicia rested a hand on each of his shoulders, giving him a quick squeeze. ‘Eric? I need you to grab a bag and pack for a week or so. Clothes, toiletries, music stuff. If needs be, we can find you stuff up in Providence, OK?’

He blinked up at her again, murmuring a ‘Yes, Ma’am’ before heading off through the door next to the one Larissa and B had disappeared through. Alicia could just make out the hissed conversation.

‘Lards, why didn't you tell me we were expecting company?’

‘1. I set you a text, actually I sent 2, outlining the plan and letting you know when we’d be home. 2. When has company ever stopped you?’

‘Respectful company!’

‘So my parents aren't respectful company?’

Alicia winced and smothered another tired giggle as she moved away from the ajar door and out of earshot. She span in place and took in the flat again. The place was something of a surprise. She traced a finger along a shelf with books and DVDs stacked haphazardly, taking in the titles and following the line of the wall. There were knickknacks and pleasant clutter tucked here and there and every wall was a different colour.

The little nook of a kitchen had the odd dusting of flour here and there, as if a slapdash blizzard had passed through. There was a sticky stack of dishes in the sink; not in a slovenly way, more in an ‘oh god I really ought to shove something down my gullet before I go out’ sort of way. Her curiosity got the better of her and Alicia plucked a cookbook off the counter, flicking through it and doing her best to not disturb the forest of post-it notes. She looked up and around every once in awhile.

This place was a home, or at least a little piece of home in city of millions.

She wondered if she could, somehow, replicate this. Replicate the effect.

In another apartment, in another city.

By the time Larissa reappeared, Alicia may have committed a few pencil scribbled amendments to memory.

‘Oh,’ Alicia blushed a little at being caught being so nosey. ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’

Larissa was already raising a placating hand and shaking her head with a wrinkled nose. ‘Oh don’t worry, you are fine. They’re Bitty’s. He’s the culinary expert. I only cook to fuel myself. He's been bringing pies to rehearsals hasn't he?’

‘Those were his?’ So he'd been commuting, choreographing, training and baking. Alicia felt the shame fizzing in her blood.

Larissa nodded and cast a guilty look at the sink full of dishes. ‘He ought to be out soon. If not I’ll go find him in a tick.’ Larissa boosted herself up onto the countertop to sit next to Alicia, kicking her heels gently against the cupboard door.

Alicia took a fortifying breath and punctuated her intent with the thud of the book closing. ‘Larissa,’ Alicia did her best to keep her voice low and urgent, needing to get this out before Eric reappeared, ‘what happened to him?’

‘You mean tonight?’ Larissa’s voice was just as low and intent.

Alicia hadn’t expected for her question to be answered with another. She just filed that away and nodded.

Larissa sighed through her teeth. ‘Bitty has a, ah, a bit of a block shall we say. About lifts. About ‘dangerous’,’ she punctuated with air quotes, ‘aspects of choreography.’ She rubbed at her eyes. ‘He gets in his own head, he worries, he panics. We’ve worked around it for a few years now, but every now and again it rears its head.’Larissa’s head snapped up when there was a slight thunk of a door opening. She schooled her face into a gentle smile, that slide off again when it was Shitty who appeared around the corner. At least this time he was covered from neck to wrist to ankle.

‘I am so sorry,’ he mumbled, face to faintly glowing.

Alicia shrugged with a rueful. ‘It’s your home B.’

‘Not it’s not.’ Larissa tapped his knee with the toe of her shoe. ‘It’s his crash pad. And crash pad agreement states a towel must be down first in the event of nakedness in public areas. You know Bits is precious about that sofa.’

‘I liked the old one.’

‘The old one was a biohazard.’

Eric appeared from around the corner, drawn to the light of the kitchen like a moth. There was a hold-all slung across his back and he was hugging his laptop to his chest like a security blanket as h shuffled forward, his bleary eyes cast down. Alicia could see his shaking slightly, that slight tremble a body gets when it's so tired it’s getting cold. Larissa hopped back down off the kitchen counter and Alicia followed behind her as Larissa ducked down to catch his eye.

‘Bits,’ she murmured reassuring, ‘you’ll be back in a week and I’m sure if you forget anything, Alicia can help you out. Have you got your laptop, iPod and dance kit.’

‘Yes.’

She gave him a hard look, before saying ‘I'll be right back’, and disappearing into his room.

Shitty stepped forward to take her place and just quietly wrapped his long arms around Eric’s slight frame, resting his chin on his head. Larissa returned bearing an extension cable. ‘You always forget your charger,’ she sighed fondly, deftly open up the hold-all and shoving it inside. ‘You remembered your video recorder but you forgot your charger.’ There was a terrible sadness in her eyes as she came back around. She reached out to tweaked his collar and her hand made it’s way to his cheek, like an anxious mother sending her son off to his first day of school.

Out of nowhere, Alicia felt her heart clench.

She fixed a comforting smile in place and clapped her hands together softly. ‘Then you are set.’ B, Larissa and Eric all looked around to her with varying levels of trepidation. ‘Come on,’ she extended a hand out to him and Eric took it. She drew him in and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. He sighed into the shoulder of her wrap as she drew him towards the door. ‘You can sleep in the car.’

‘Take care Bits. See soon OK champ?’

B had taken up position at Larissa’s shoulder and, on another day, Alicia would be hard pushed not to giggle. He had his arm around Larissa, holding her close and he too looked like they bidding their son goodbye at the garden gate. She’d never seen a look like it on a face as young as Larissa’s, one that pleaded ‘take care of my boy.’

Alicia found herself watching him very closely in the car. Within moments of the engine starting, Eric had pitched sideways, his cheek against the window once more. Before they’d even cleared Brooklyn, the flare and dim of passing overhead street lamps was accompanied by little wheezing snores. The phosphorus yellow light caught on the defeated line of his shoulders and the dark shadows below his eyes.

This stops now, Alicia thinks to herself emphatically. It stops now.

Alicia sat. She watched. She planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so from now on, I'll be writing in real time... If that makes sense. Basically, from here on out, all the chapters are currently in bullet point form so I will do my best to keep it as a chapter a week, but I make no promises.
> 
> Watch Strictly tonight; I am still recovering from the Flash Gordon number and the Indiana Jones number.  
> For very different reasons.  
> I have been in love with Jonnie Peacock for some time now, help me.


	6. Tango

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Week 4, Tango.
> 
> Eric moves in and meets more of Team Alicia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope I haven't lost you all in the, oh lord, 6-month wait. Thank you for hanging on in there.

Bitty snorted himself awake with a force that had him almost swallowing his own tongue. He blinked through a few terrible seconds of confusion and terror as he unstuck his cheek from the window, his skin stinging and cold. In the dawn light, he just registered the leather interior of the car when a door opened and cold air whistled into the back seats. 

‘Eric?’ Bitty unfurled just enough to look up at the figure in the doorway. She was ducked down under the lintel, her hands resting on the roof and her cream wrap draped over her arms, the pale young light making the cream fabric glow. ‘Come on sweetheart, let’s get you inside. You have a few more hours of sleep before we get you settled in proper.’

‘Are you an angel?’

He vaguely hears a fond chuckle and a murmured word or two. He’s wrapped up in cashmere wool and the smell lily of the valley, there’s whispered conversation above his head, feet gently nudging his along, the drag of gravel on his toes, the click of heels in stone, a door closing and muffling everything, low light, cool cotton.

Then nothing.

***

For the second time in the space of 12 hours, Bitty came to with a snort. The world came spiralling in, accompanied with an unfamiliar ceiling and the disconcerting feeling that he was sinking. There was a moment of flailing which sent pillows and a warm duvet flying onto the floor and it only slightly deadened the impact when Bitty joined it. The initial adrenaline kick got made a double as Bitty scrabbled up onto his hands and knees and then scooched back until his back hit the bed frame, his heart rabbiting under his pyjama shirt.

A pyjama shirt, that wasn’t his. 

Bitty looked down at the white and blue pin-striped cotton, plucking at it in shock. These were not his. He doesn’t remember changing into them. Someone had undressed and then dress him.

He absently aware that he’s still wearing yesterday’s boxers.

The room was lovely, a creamy white colour scheme accented with gold and russet that the early afternoon sun was causing to glow.

Bitty stared at the small brass alarm clock on the dresser, now above his head.   

2:28pm.

The information should have sparked even more panic, how long had he slept!?, but Bitty’s body doesn’t seem to have any more reserves of adrenaline or whatever chemical cocktail he’d been running off for the last few weeks. A delirious resignation settled over him like a heavy coat.

Speaking of coats…

His navy blazer was hanging on the back of the door, the maroon hoodie peeking out from underneath. His holdall was set beside a desk below a set of small shelves. Someone had placed his laptop, iPod, speakers and camera on the desk. His clothes were in small piles on the floor, his shoes paired together. 

Bitty rubbed a tired hand over his eyes, knowing without having to look that he’d managed to forget his pyjamas.

He hauled himself to his feet, staggering slightly as they remembered their purpose, and tripped over to the window. 

He slowed as the landscape rose into view, a lawn rolling out like the sea, breaking on the shoreline of tall trees, their yellowed and fallen leaves creating a beach of crunching shingle. A wide, sweeping drive of pale gravel cut through the green like a river estuary. It coiled, breaking the boundary line of trees, and wound its’ way towards the front of the house. The river of gravel curved into an ox-bow in front of a porch, the tiled roof of which Bitty could just see below. Two cars sat on the drive, a pretty little Fiat and an elegant silver Bentley gleaming gently in the sunshine. 

Bitty boosted himself onto the windowsill, letting his arms take the strain as he leant forward and tried to see more of the house. Because there was no denying where he was. 

He was in a guest room of the Zimmermann house. He was in Alicia Zimmermann’s house.      

It looked like a beautiful house, from what he could see. Huge, colonial in design, and as he craned to see, the grounds look just as large. He could see an orchard still sporting a few last stubborn fruit and the start of a flower bed, roses from what he could tell at this distance.   

He lowered himself back down onto the balls of his feet, the warm wooden floorboards creaking gently. Bitty held himself steady, gripping onto the window sill for a moment and took stock of his situation. 

He was in the guest room of the home of his glamorous and wonderful, (OK so maybe the awe still hadn’t worn off), dancing partner. He was out of his city. He was working from home. He was very much out of his comfort zone.

Or was he?

To be fair, he’d not really been in his comfort zone since he’d signed that contract. And it had been suggested he move but he’d insisted on still being based in New York, because, well because it had been a constant for the last few years. Lardo, and by extension Shitty, had been his world since he’d left Georgia, Moomaw a moon whose orbit was a constant and Mama and Coach occasionally lighting up his night sky like comets.

He’d kept that tie to New York as an anchor. But now he could help that think, maybe, he’d gotten himself tangled in the rope. And, he thinks, he may have just been cut free. 

It made sense. Training and living at the Zimmermanns’. Wherever that was exactly. Bitty's only priority at the moment is DWTS. His and Lardo’s school had closed for the season, to reopen at the end of the series in time for the new competitive season. Apparently, Lardo had already been receiving interest from prospective pupils for their junior classes. But Alicia needs to be here. This is her base of operations; for her charity and outreach work. He’d caught snatches of her working in the lulls of training. Talking, mainly to a Millie, about fundraising and events and who she could put in contact with whom.  

At any rate, he realised that any and all protests, honest or token, and he had plenty of both, were far too late. 

He gathered up some jeans, a fresh jumper and his wash kit, and went in search of a bathroom.

***

The house was quiet when he snuck out of the room. Socked feet letting him creep down the hall, Bitty went in search of life. The rest of the house was just as lovely as the room he’d woken up in. It looked like the backdrop of a photo shoot, but in no way gaudy or overpowering. A photo shoot where the person is the subject of interest, rather than the items or the clothes. He peeks around the odd door that stands ajar, but the rooms, each with their own beautiful scheme, all appeared to be empty. After twisting and turning for a while, Bitty stepped out onto a wide landing flooded by light streaming in from large bay windows. The landing arced down into two sweeping staircases, each curling around to nestle the entrance hall between them. 

Bitty took hold of the bannister and set off down the stairs, heading towards the soft murmur of voices he could just make out. As he descended, he found himself slowing, almost against his better judgement. Both staircases were lined with framed photos. Some as tall as Bitty was. Huge blown up spreads interspersed with smaller frames. Bitty stood and stared at a 5 foot spread of Alicia in a truly eye-scalding jumpsuit. She was sat, reclining languidly on what looked like part of a fake Roman ruin, her foot propped up on a statue’s broken off head. Her expression a peculiar mix that suggests boredom and mild concussion. What apparently passed for bedroom eyes in the early 90s.

Each frame on this side of the stairs held a photo of Alicia. And, Bitty was a fan of Alicia’s work, but even he couldn’t say any of these were pretty. The wall was a distressing medley of crimped hair, animal prints, wet look leather and terrible, terrible shoes. 

The opposite wall was covered in frames as well. Bitty looked across the way and immediately it became evident that the shots were of a much lower calibre. A lot of the photos were grainy or blurred, the distortion made all the worse by the images being blown up. They all featured the same man. Well, Bitty assumed it was the same man. The nose was a different shape in nearly every other photo, usually accompanied by a large amount of blood. Some were of, supposedly the same man, in full ice hockey kit, either in the process of falling spectacularly or already face down on the ice. The shots where his face could be seen showed a variety of expressions; from snarling fury to whooping joy. The look of elation as he hefted a silver cup nearly as big as him was complemented by two black eyes and evidence of missing teeth. That was before you got onto the cringy publicity shots and haircuts that made Bitty recoil.      

He continued down the steps and came to the bottom of the strange ‘Hall of Shame’. The pictures seemed to be hanging in chronological order, the photo at the bottom depicting a headshot with some overly chunky highlights and a sequined halter top. 

Bitty cast it one judging, pitying look and stepped down onto the floorboards, alighting with a soft thump. 

A second later there’s a scrabbling sound not too far away, like the sound of small pressure points on tiles. Then wood. Beyond it, and it sounded like it was approaching, at speed, there were sounds like the scrape of a chair of a kitchen chair and a bitten off curse in a distressed male voice. 

‘Noël, no!’ 

Around the corner, at speed, came the biggest dog Bitty had ever seen. He’s seen some of the big mean animals a certain type of young men tended to wield like a weapon back in his hometown but he’s never seen anything like this. As it bears down on him, Bitty can see that this thing has a far wilder danger to it and an efficiency wherein other animals he’d just seen brutishness. He looked into the lupine face and froze as the fight or flight instinct failed him. He wondered, faintly, if is this if what prehistoric man had felt when the wolves came for him.  

Through the white noise of hindbrain terror, he just about hears Alicia’s shout of ‘Bend your knees!’ 

It’s doesn’t do him much good. 

The beast leaps and flattens him.

As Alicia’s worried face crests into view and the beast on his chest pants hotly into his face, Bitty just stared up at the ceiling.

‘I’m in The North… There’s a direwolf… This is Winterfell… Help me.’

***

Alicia tried to pry the dog off Bitty’s chest. She promised it was a dog, not a wolf, definitely not a direwolf. Just a lot of dog. But Noël seemed set on inspecting him where she had him before stepping off. After a period of shoving on their part and dejected grumbling on hers’, they hauled her off and Bitty just managed to scramble his way onto the bottom step before she was in for a close inspection again. 

Alicia worried her bottom lip between her teeth and apologises. ‘I’m sorry, we should have warned you. Are you alright with dogs? You’re not allergic, are you? We can shut her in her outdoor run if needs be.’ 

Bitty couldn’t bring himself to say anything in that regard. He was still working through the shock but already he was finding it hard to say no to those brown eyes. And he was the interloper here, no one should be forced out of their home for him. Alicia just smiled and laid a hand over her heart at his words as Bitty gingerly sank his hands into the dog’s ruff. After a few tentative pats, Alicia shifted her weight.

‘Alright you,’ she looked down to the dog and clicked her fingers, getting her attention. ‘Noël, bed. Atta girl.’ Noël turned and padded ahead of them, disappearing through a doorway at the end of the lobby and around a corner. Alicia hauled Bitty to his feet, looping his arm through hers and patted his hand before towing him gentle along in her wake. ‘Come on now, got a few people for you to meet. And I think you could do with some lunch.’  

***

Bitty had a near visceral reaction to the kitchen. 

The house is lovely. The kitchen is a masterpiece.

Bitty has to fight the urge to run his hands appreciatively along the quartz countertops and rub his cheek against the various appliances. The multi stove set up gleamed. The shelves housed a variety of beautiful crockery and the cupboards reached the ceiling. He could see a pantry disappearing into the shadow cast by the fridge freezer that was as tall as the room. Noël had curled up in a cage under the window. It looked like a cage one would put in the back of a car to hold dogs while travelling. There was space for two medium sized dogs but Noël had curled up contentedly. She’d settled onto the thick cushion and contentedly crossed her front paws, resting her chin on them to survey the room.

The breakfast bar looked like a small bomb had hit it.

There was evidence of a working lunch having taken place, or maybe in process. A few bowls sported different components of salad and the largest one was half full of popcorn. A plate of few cold cuts lay under a wayward sheet of printed paper and another sported a grease make left by butter. There were a couple of laptops open, no doubt accumulating crumbs in the keyboard. 

The young woman seated on the side of the breakfast bar nearest them shoved a cracker bread laden with humus between her teeth and chewed as she straightened up, slipping off the stool and dusting her hands against her pencil skirt. She forwent slipping back into her pumps and trotted the last few steps, her hand reaching out to take his. 

The grinning cloud of blonde curls introduced herself as Millie, and Bitty had a mental ‘Oh, you!’ moment in the privacy of his own head, Alicia’s PA. 

‘Her job description runs the gamut. She is much more than a PA,’ Alicia interjected as she retrieved a clean plate from a shelf and handed it to Bitty. ‘The vultures have been at it but please help yourself. There is more than enough in the fridge as well if you are missing anything.’

PA also seemed to include ‘partner in crime’ as Millie slid her arm around Bitty’s and steered him towards her side of the breakfast bar. As they approached, Millie stretching out with her foot to kick her discarded shoes further under, Bitty got a better look at the other occupant at the table.

Bitty also had a near visceral reaction to the man sat there.

And he felt his soul shrivel up a little as the man stood and offered his hand with an easy grin.

He’d been… he’d been worried about this. He’d seen those photos in the hall, that even under the blood and the bruising and the retro hair, the man was very handsome and that little seed of concern was starting to germinate into a right old panic. 

Alicia’s husband, because he  _ had  _ to be, didn’t he. Beautiful people attracted beautiful people. Alicia’s husband was tall, of an athletic build, even in later middle age, his dark hair peppered with distinguishing grey at the temples and he had the warmest smile. Damn, his dentist had done a good job.

Bitty…. Look you can’t judge him, but Bitty has a  _ type _ . 

He also had a history of inappropriate older man crushes. 

Do not ask about his high school history teacher. 

Or Richard Armitage. 

Look, he’d had his tonsils out at 14 and he and Moomaw had mainlined ‘North and South’ with gallons of ice cream and that potent mix leaves an impression.

‘Eric, this is Bobby.’

Bitty tried not to blush when the man’s large, warm hand engulfed his and gave it a firm shake. He may have been a little too wrapped up in his own panic to not read the signs but all the warning he got was a quirk of a grin before the arm tugged. Bitty near bounced off him before there were arms around him, a chuckle in his ear and a hand in his hair.

Doing terrible, horrible, monstrous things there.

Bitty squawked indignantly and Bob laughed as he continued to muss Bitty’s hair. ‘Hey, kiddo! So good to finally meet you. Big, big fan of your work. And the work you and Alicia are doing.’

And that was the dose of herbicide that seed needed so badly.

Bitty grinned even as the last of his blush infused his cheeks. He offered his hand out to Bob to shake once more while flicking his hair back into place with the other.  

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘Ha!,’ Millie barked a laugh around a mouthful of cracker. ‘Oh my gosh, you were right, he is so cute!’

***

Noël appeared to have a heart as big as the rest of her. 

As Eric munched on a late lunch, she stood with her chin on his thigh, tail ticking back and forth and leaving little damp spots on his jeans. He got to know Millie and Bobby a little better; how Millie had sorta kinda signed Alicia up for the show and how Bobby didn’t think he could thank her enough for it. While Eric vaguely recognised the halo of blonde curls from the Saturday night audiences, Bobby had had to follow as best he could on the broadcasts. He’d been north of the border for the last few weeks, consulting for the women’s Olympic hopefuls in the run up to PyeongChang. But he’d done his best to keep up.

Millie clears her throat next to Eric and surreptitiously shows him the twitter feed under the table. 4 swipes of the thumb and they were still only on last weekend’s show.

Eric pulls out his own phone and follows _@RadBobZ_ , never saying a thing but giving her a nod of thanks. And follows _@CamColls_ as well.

Once the crumbs are swept up and the plates are put away, Eric is taken on a tour of the house. 

He’s shown the kitchen in more detail; he is more than welcome to anything in the fridge or freezer that isn’t marked with a red sticker. If he’d like anything in, all he’s got to do is add it to the whiteboard on the side of the fridge, Millie complies an online shopping list twice a week. 

Eric looks around in concern in time to see Millie shrug. ‘If I didn’t, they’d never get food in and they’d be using the second drawer a lot more.’

Eric frowned and looked at the set of drawers at his hip. He wrapped his hand around the knob and looked back at her, tugging it open at her nod.

Take out menus. At least a dozen.

‘She keeps that figure and I hate her for it,’ Millie muttered, sliding back into her shoes and coming over to take his arm. 

‘Come on Eric, let's go,’ Alicia called from the doorway, Bobby ahead of her. And the four of them set off.

The direwolf following behind.

She’s a Utonagan cross Eric, not a wolf. Certainly not a direwolf.

I’m at Winterfell, she’s a direwolf. Don’t you listen to her, Summer baby. 

They head back up the stairs, along Bobby’s corridor of shame - ‘Gallery of Glory, thank you very much’ - and upstairs. There’s a study that he can use if he’d like, he’d found a bathroom earlier but Alicia saved him from future embarrassment by giving him an unprompted but gratefully received tutorial on how to operate the shower. There were half a dozen bedrooms, Millie’s got one down the hall from him if she needs to crash for a night, and a rec room. 

Every now and again, Eric’d get distracted by the views out the windows.   

Downstairs he was shown the sunroom, admittedly a little chilly in early October but still full of autumn sunlight. The two living rooms; one light and inviting, the other smaller and cave-like. Another washroom on the ground floor, a small library that looked well thumbed and well loved. A movie room with recliners and a wall of DVDs.

And a few shelves of videotapes. Old school.

Alicia sends him back up to his room for his dance kit, shoes and iPod before taking him down to the basement floor. Eric hurried up and scurried back down, dented old Betsy in hand. Alicia waited for him until there were two sets of feet on the stairs. Noel appeared in the hall first and Eric grabbed the bannister to regain his balance. 

‘Is she… umm… Is she going to keep doing that?’  

Alicia just smiled and beckoned him down a hall and down a small flight of stairs. 

The gym was lovely. A long, low room with wooden floors and a mirror down the length of one wall. Bobby was just stepping away from the hidden door that revealed a sound system control board. Various weight and cardio machines stood to attention around the like soldiers on parade and free weights rested on racks. The air conditioning unit hummed gently overhead and the recessed lights made the polished floor gleam. 

It was perfect.

‘This is perfect.’

Well, it wasn’t completely perfect. But as Bobby shifted the gym equipment out of the way, the muscles of his arms straining against the sleeves of his polo shirt, Eric had to admit, it was pretty damn near.

Alicia’s knowing look and smug smile, Millie’s cackle and his own intense, burning embarrassment put a little of a dampener on it mind you.

Eric attempted to bury his shame in the sound control cupboard, his face flaming fit to catch alight. He located the auxiliary cable and plugged it into old Betsy. This week’s song had been uploaded to the old girl for him by some kind soul on the music and composition team and the wheel clicked as he thumbed his way to the waiting playlist.

He feels the first thrumming notes reverberate between his ribs; deep, staccato and grating against his hindbrain. The violins joined in next, sliding eerily up and tugging at Eric’s forebrain as [the song demanded to be recognised](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x-64CaD8GXw). With the banjos plucking at his memory, Eric giggled. And groaned. And giggled again, until the tears rolled down his cheeks. 

***

_ *The screen goes white with a whoosh.* _

_ *There’s a scribbling sound as words appear, being written in a rough but legible hand.* _

Dancing Shi

_ *There’s a pause then a scribble.* _

Dancing  ~~ Shi ~~ Stuff

With Ransom and Holster

_ *The shot opens on Ransom and Holster, slouched low in on a sofa in what looks to be one of the green rooms of the studios. Both of them look a little uncomfortable.* _

‘Hello everyone in TV land. We welcome you once more to these intimate little chats of ours. Today’s topic is a very, very important one. One that, if it were not present, may result in our dancers looking truly ridiculous-’

‘To be fair, some of them still do. We’ve got nothing to do with that.’ 

‘True, Rans, true. But, nevertheless, it is a crucial facture and to be fair, without it, we wouldn’t be here.’

‘We are, of course, talking about music. Music. The food of love. Where words fail, music speaks. The only real magic.’ 

‘Exactly.’  _ *Holster looks around, craning his neck as if waiting to see someone arriving.*  _ ‘Exactly. Umm. Thing is, the music on this show is so, so important. And for this magic, we need a master wizard… Umm… A wizard who… umm.’

‘Who appears to be late?’

‘A wizard is never late Frodo Baggins.’

‘....OK, anyhow, you did tell him to meet us here right?’

_ *Holster looks a little cornered.* _ ‘Well… I never actually got an answer from him. So I thought we’d just, y’know, lie in wait?’

‘Lie in- Holts, we need to have this puppy done in a few hours!’

‘Then we go find him! We hunt him down.’

‘The man is a ghost!’

‘Dear viewers,’ _ *Holster addresses the camera as Ransom covers his face in despair* _ , ‘we’re talking about John Johnston. Our Musical Director, Band Leader and the Voice of God.’   

_ *Ransom continues to crane his neck around, keeping an eye out.* _

‘Now, you may be familiar with the name, April and March do like to introduce us all each episode, but he is a notoriously hard man to get on camera. Each time there’s a shot of the orchestra pit, it’s the back of his head. The camera team just can’t seem to catch him. We’d hoped to give him a little screen time this week because he’s been here since day 1. It was him and Anton du Beke at the beginning of time.’

‘Holsts,’  _ *Ransom claps a hand on his shoulder, conspiratorially.*  _ ‘We’re gonna have to take the fight to him. We’ve not got the time.’  _ *He levers himself up and heads out of shot.* _

_ *Holster sighs and scoots off the sofa and leans forward to pick up the camera.*  _ ‘Road trip it is.’

_ *The footage changes. The shot becomes a moving viewpoint, similar to the footage of when Ransom and Holster were first showing the viewers the studios during the first week. The two head down corridors, sticking their heads through doorways every now and again, searching for Johnson. Every time the shot peeks through a doorway, the pair are met with smiles and waves and then eventually with shakes of the head. The two drop into nearly every department of the DWTS machine. The commentary continues over the footage.* _

‘Live music, live people, we do this the right way, is a crucial part of this whole endeavour. But it is witchcraft of the highest order. Because taking a modern pop song or rock anthem and moulding it into the perfect paso doble or quickstep is nothing short of a musical miracle. The task involves plucking 90 second arrangements from the chosen song for all the dances, transcribing them for a 15 piece orchestra and getting it rehearsed. In under a week.’

‘The task can be really hard depending on the song and what’s required of it. The pros sometimes come in, song in hand and hope in their eyes, plans for choreography flitting through their brains, and sometimes Johnston has to crush those dreams. Not always, and he takes no joy in it, but the arrangement has to be approved all around.’

_ *The footage sees the two of them swing into the crafts room, grabbing a paw full of sandwiches as they pass through. Ransom shoves a few in his mouth as they continue on _ .*

‘And we can not stress enough, this is in a week. The nature of the competition, we don’t know who’s going to survive from week to week so it keeps everything fresh. That’s what we tell ourselves anyway. The quick turnaround keeps us all feeling alive.’

‘Now Johnston, he is a legend. Within these walls but also in the real world too. He’s had a colourful and illustrious career in television and films. Played on many a soundtrack, worked with a galaxy of musical stars. Has no background in ballroom or latin. None.’

_ *Ransom swings into the make-up artists’ room, pecking the girls on the cheek and clapping the lads on the shoulders. There’s Chris, fast asleep in a ratty, dark green makeup chair. Ransom reaches for an eye-liner pencil and stands poised to draw on his face. He’s tackled by a tiny blonde woman who bundles the pair of them out with a disapproving scowl.* _

‘It’s all live telly and not much rehearsal. Pressure. Gotta love it.’

‘Johnston and his motley crew of musicians have become masters and jack-of-all-trades in the same breath. The range of styles required for the programme means these guys need to be versatile as all get out. Like roaring 20s numbers, to classical masterpieces, to the latest top 40s, to musical numbers. But it’s all gotta go through the 15 strong band and the 4 of us singers. Because we don’t get to actually rehearse with everyone until the afternoon before the live show.’

‘We get, maybe, 4 run-throughs, if we are lucky. The couples are there for 2 of them.’

‘If there are any changes, any rearrangements, you gotta sight read that baby. Sometimes the sheet music’s still hot off the printer.’

‘But all the songs are selected by the dancers, sometimes the celebrities get to put their two cents in. Sometimes the production team make the choice if the dancers don’t come up with anything.’

_ *Ransom walks into the wardrobe and fitting room. A number of seamstresses drive to block a few works in progress from view.* _

‘But even if the songs were chosen by the dancers, there is inevitably niggles and changes and things that need tweaking. Everyone is sight reading, at least a little bit, and I don’t know about the girls, but Holsts and I are usually having to unlearn bits and pieces from the original recording that are gonna trip us up if we don’t shake them. But tempo is key. Tempo has to be on point.’

‘If the tempo is different from the recording the dancers have been working from, it can all go sideways. We’re often asked to make it a little slower or a little faster. We want to keep the dancers happy and we want to help the celebrities do as good a job as they can.’

‘But it’s really hard with really well-known pieces. If you ever listen to a song that is ever so slightly out of time or off pitch, it is really noticeable and does not sit pretty. We need to mould the pieces to work.’

‘Now in making a choice… it’s a gamble. You may want to go with an old classic. But it may have been done already. Or it may be old hat, not capture the imagination of the public. Or the judges for that matter. There’s only so much we magicians can do with a tired old track.’

‘But on the flip side, have a modern piece, and it may not translate as well as you’d envisioned. Or you may completely lose Len. And then there are the themed weeks, and that narrows your pool of options right down.’

‘But the worst mistakes you can make, are being unoriginal, copying a routine already done, or selecting a piece that means nothing to you or your partner.’

_ *By this time, the two lads have walked the length and breadth of the studios. They’d been chivvied out the crafts room. Again. They’d got embroiled in the pros display dance rehearsals, much to the horror of the choreographer. They’d stuck their head around every door. Bruno had welcomed the pair in with open arms and about 20 seconds of the footage is them having a very animated, and sped up, conversation. They stake out the orchestra pit as it fills up, the musicians tuning and settling in. Still no sign of Johnson.* _

_ *The footage reverts back to the two lads sprawled on the same sofa they started on, looking a little more frayed around the edges then they did at the beginning.* _

‘Well… That was…’

‘An unprecedented disaster?’

_ *Holster pulls a face but does not deny it.* _

‘Oh! Speaking of disaster, that’s why you hear his voice now!’

‘OK, context. It was, what, second series?’

‘Second series, episode 4, Ian Waite’s waltz, first dance of the night. The event is burning into my brain because all of us aged 5 years in 20 seconds.’

‘The joys of live television.’ _ *Ransom scrubs a hand over his face.*  _ ‘Second series. There’d been a power cut earlier on in the day and we  _ thought  _ that it had all been sorted out. But the radio mics hadn’t come back online properly. The frequencies were all out of sorts and the producers were screaming into the void but we couldn’t hear shit. So Ian and his partner were stood there in the middle of the floor and the lights come up and Johnston was there poised staring into the middle distance waiting for the prompt to come through over the headsets aaaaaaand nothing.’

‘So now he gets a light cue and announces the couples himself now. We now know when we’ve gotta go to work.’

‘Speaking of,’  _ *another voice comes over the footage. The voice is male and does have an accent, but it’s one of those that are impossible to pin down. Ransom and Holster jerk up in their seats in shock, looking above and to the right of camera. A set of dark trousered legs cut in front of the camera, Ransom and Holster just about visible to the side of each knee.* _ ‘You guys are due in the orchestra pit. We’ve got 20 minutes til we go live. Hop to.’  _ *The legs head off screen again and the pair scramble out of their seats, calling after him as the follow after him. They completely forget the camera, which is emitting a high beep. The battery is on its’ last legs.* _

‘Wait… Johnson! Wait, you were meant to be this week’s feature!’

‘C’mon! Just 5 minutes Johnson! Slow down!’

‘OUR VIEWERS NEED TO KNOW!’

‘JOHNSON GET BACK HERE YOU CRYPTID SON OF A-’

_ *Screen cuts to black as the battery finally dies. The shot bleeds to white.* _

See you next time!

Ransom and Holster

***

Dancing the Tango, Alicia Zimmermann, and her partner Eric Bittle.

***

Alicia thinks she likes this one. The Tango has a definite character to it, one that is full of smokey charisma and decades old. 

Kind of like her, Bob had smirked before she’d elbowed him in the gut and he’d attacked her sides all over again.  

But this was the first dance that she’d been able to step back from at the beginning, before training, before the choreography, and look at what the dance was, as an animal so to speak. There’d been a few Tangos already this season from other competitors, some brilliant, some not so, and Alicia had listened to the critiques when she could. She listened to what the judges were telling her compatriots and she thinks she’s going to benefit from seeing the other’s trialling it.

And also from the time Eric is getting to sleep and rest effectively, but that’s besides the point. 

There was a smoulder to it, something earthy and smokey, but with an underlying sharpness to it. 

‘Not unlike whiskey,’ Eric had said in the dress run this afternoon, kicking the barrel she sat on for good measure. 

Yeah, the character she was going with was most definitely earthy.

The deep staccato notes of the strings kicked up and she punctuates the music with the thunk of her heels on the barrel. Eric freezes across the dance floor from her, his back still to her as he drops a prop sack off of his shoulder. He’s downstage right from her and from her spot on the raised dais, she can see the whole floor perfectly. The slide of the strings, like something sharp being drawn lightly across skin, raised the hairs on her arms. Eric slowly twists to face her with that drawn-out note, a fained cornered and spooked look on his face. He looks like a startled rabbit and the smile that stretches across Alicia’s face has a predatory lilt to it. 

Eric straightens and fixes himself, tugging at his braces, acting the scared little boy suddenly trying to be all rough and tough in this scene. They are like something out of a New England dockyard at the turn of the century; Eric a young ship hand having just finished unloading cargo and about to enjoy free time ashore. And Alicia, well, there were certain trades a woman may ply around a dockyard, and she’s gone with the oldest one of all.  

Alicia leaned back, gripping the edge of the barrel for leverage, and extended one leg into the air with the next glissando from the strings. It wasn’t quite a 90 degrees, but it was damn close and it garnered a few shocked noises and a smattering of applause. Absently, Alicia marvelled. Her feet hadn’t touched the boards yet and they were already impressed.

Noting that for later use.

She swung upright again and used the momentum to launch herself off the barrel, her feet hitting the boards to echo the up and down strokes of the double basses beneath the puck of a banjo. Alicia

The grin that slides across Alicia is predatory fought to wrestle her grin into something more wolfish as she advances on him. Eric’s character digs up resolve from somewhere and he is approaching her, meeting her in the middle of the floor, his arms and feet mirror hers as she flairs her skirts from one side to the other. Alicia worried the hems of her multi-layered skirts between her fingertips as she flicked them back and forth around her. Asymmetrical layers of plaid material over a flowing black base layer setting off the off the shoulder blouse look bodice. While the bare shoulders and the flash of ankles may allude that everything can be off at a moment’s notice, but Vicky had promised up and down everything would stay in place.  

Alicia and Eric met each other upstage and immediately stepped into an orbiting step around one another, sizing each other up, moving shoulder to shoulder before twisting and standing chest to chest, Alicia gripping her hems up into the small of her back. Elbows out, chin high and looking down the length of her nose at him, calculating him from under darken lashes. 

She reached out with her downstage arm, quick as a snake, and gripped Eric’s jaw only for him to loop his fingers around her wrist, bringing her arm down and taking her hand into hold. Her other arm came up in counterbalance and settled against his shoulder blade. The two of them share one last fleeting grin, before their heads turned to their joined leading hands, stepped into an open promenade.

And they were off.

***

Alicia came alive in his arms in this dance and it made Bitty’s heart sing.

Well, to be fair, never could she have been accused of being a dead weight, but so far on show nights, it had felt like something was stopping her.

Tonight however, whatever tether there had been, was gone. And he didn’t really know what had done it, and to be honest at this point, he didn’t really care so long as it stuck around.

Maybe it was the character of the dance.

From the get-go, Bitty had wanted to showcase Alicia. Because Alicia is magnificent in every conceivable way. And he wanted the viewing public to be aware of what crimes they have committed in allowing her to slip out of the limelight. So in every dance so far, it had all been about her.

That may have been too much. Too much attention on her.

But what is Alicia good at? What is she phenomenal at?

Acting.

Between them, they’d crafted this Jezebel of a character. A woman who has weathered many storms and has seen tides and sailors come and go. A woman who can spot an easy mark from the other end of a jetty but can also tenderly show a nervous cabin boy how to ride out a swell.

There was a naughty light in her eye this evening. The syncopated shoulder roll had a sultriness to it, when during rehearsals it had just been another beat to hit.    

Maybe the quicksilver glint in her eye and crispness of her ochos was down to Bob being here.

His contract with the Olympic Women’s team was up and he was now south of the border again and had declared that he didn’t intend going anywhere. Except down to New York with her.

Bob hadn’t even tried to be subtle when he and Camilla have waved furiously at him while he’d been in position, waiting for them to be announced. The two of them were all but bouncing in their seats and only grinned wider when Bitty had tried to shush them. The fact that he was here, really here, and giving her all the support in his soul has to be what’s got their pivot roll tumbling across the floor like a barrel on the crests of waves. He can hear the pair of them hollering when Alicia drops into a deep lunge during the Spanish Drag and they’re aren’t quiet drowned out when the crowd applauds again as Bitty pivots her on the spot, her free leg extended out before her, parallel to the floor.   

Maybe the fact that she’s been working from within her own home, maybe that’s what helped the sharpness of the stacco head turns. As they entered one final progressive link, Alicia’s head snaps to the side with such force that it threatens the stability of her french roll. While the wardrobe is staying put, there is only so much hair slides and spray can do. Even the performance grade stuff.

The pair of them glower down the rifle sight of their leading arms and step off into their final closed promenade and he can see her shoulders are back and her chin is high. Being home, she’s not needed to worry about the commute, about being away from the office for the day. She’d been able to flit in and out when needs be. Far from being a distraction, it seems to have helped sharpen her focus. Sparing 15 minutes to think about something completely different before coming back to the choreography with her head clearer, something else having been under her microscope sharp attention.

She’d been able to eat in her own kitchen, sleep in her own bed, move about her own home, live her own life; rather than having two, one inside the studio and the other outside it. 

The music roiled and the ebb and flow was starting to slow, the strings let out their last few wailing trills. They’d made it back up onto the dais, Bitty spinning her away and back once more. He lashed his free arm around her waist as she came back, drawing her close, and she hooked her free leg high on his hip. As the pair of them sank into a deep lunge with the last quaking note, the audience were rising to their feet.

***

It took a moment for them to make themselves presentable for the judges' inspection. Eric hadn't quite waited til Alicia was fully on her feet again before throwing his arms around her. His hug had her a few inches off the floor and even under the thunderous applause, she could still hear him.

‘That was amazing. You are brilliant. I'm so proud of you.’

Bobby and Millie were the last to sit down, Millie whooping and stamping her feet and Bobby’s piercing whistle zipping through the air. March laughed at the pair’s antics as she waved Alicia and Eric over to her side, fussing with Alicia’s hair when they made it over, tucking it out of her face in a rather maternal gesture.

‘Well, looks like you two may have found your sea legs then. That was amazing!’ She smiled encouragingly as the two of them got their breath back and took Alicia’s hand, giving it a squeeze. ‘Now Craig, we are going to start with you, but before you begin I do want to point out, Alicia’s husband Bad Bob is in the audience this evening-’ She was interrupted by cheers and clapping again, and the screens displayed a close up shot of Bobby’s laughing face from one of the floor side cameras. ‘He’s here and he has told me he’ll sort you out if you aren’t nice.’ Bob’s face smoothed into a mock stern expression, raising his balled fists to brandish them playfully in Craig’s direct.

Craig didn’t appear cowed in the slightest, just raised an eyebrow and drawled, ‘Well, he can put me in the Sin Bin anytime darling.’

The studio erupted into shrieks of laughter and Craig had to raise his voice to be heard, ‘Am I using that reference right? I don't know.’ Bobby stopped giggling just long enough to give him a shrug.

March’s exasperated ‘Craig, behave yourself’ was echoed by Darcy as Bruno continued to test gravity as he usually does when entertained. Len reached out and hauled the back of his chair back into a safe position without even looking around.

‘Well, you’re framing was lacking through most of the dance and your shaping really suffered as a result. It’s not often I say this about a Tango, but there was a little bit too much attack at times. A bit spiky. But-’ 

He waited for the boos and jeers to die down, just blinking calmly was the audience settled again.

‘But, your footwork was very clean, heel leads well defined. Much more musically this week and your extensions are to die for, darling. All in all, much improved.’

There were cheers amongst the clapping as March turned to confer with the pair of them. ‘Rare we see Craig so complimentary!’

‘Bobby’s flirting will do that to a person,’ Alicia quipped and the audience dissolved into giggles again..’

‘Darcy,’ March turned to the next judge, grasping for a bastion of proprietary in all of this, ‘did our pair here impress you as well?’

‘Wow, it's amazing what a week can do!’ and the cheers rippled around the room again. ‘This was a tango full of character. You had attack and intent, and you kept that going throughout. You’re focus never dropped!’ Darcy punctuated with empathic thumps of her palm on the desktop posture. ‘You do still have a few weakness,’ and Darcy ploughed on in her school ma’am way of her’s, silencing the class before the audience could object, ‘biggest one being your top line. You’re no longer clinging but you need to get those shoulders back and maintain the V shaping.’ She arched elegantly, demonstrating, Craig shifting ever so slightly to give her more. ‘Back and down, extended your neck. That will help you look up more, rather than down on to Eric’s head.’

Len barely waited for the applause to die down before he was leaning forward onto his elbows and pointing an authoritative finger at the pair of them. ‘Each week, we sit here and give critiques. That all we can do. Eric, Alicia, it warms my heart to see a couple taking it onboard and applying it.’

Alicia tightened her arm around Eric’s back and she had to fight the giddiness that was coursing through her as the audience roared in approval. She did turn to look at him though, and at the sight of his shell-shocked face was enough to allow a giggle to bubble up. She gave him an encouraging shake, squeezing him around the middle. The slight jostling did seem to break him out of whatever revery he was falling into and he turned a small smile up to her, his eye bright.

‘You came out after a rough week and you attacked this dance, you gave it 110%, and we couldn't have asked for more. Yes, you still have a few issues,’ and he sits back waving  a hand dismissively, ‘but as far as I am concerned, you have some of the best feet in the competition. And this was your best dance to date.’

‘Model students you two!’, March beamed, ‘Bruno-’.

‘Aliccccccccccccia!’ Bruno hissed, braced back in his chair, his arms rigid. ‘It was like being transported back to the wars of independence. Eric’s a young gun of the boat for the first time and he doesn’t know what’s about to hit him. You, lying in wait, oh yes Sonny Jim, I can teach you a thing or two!’ Alicia was sure she could feel the heat of Eric’s blush through her dress and there were giddy squeals from the auditorium like there always were when Bruno got playful. ‘A seasoned siren waiting for her next mark and you certainly made a mark with this number. I am so, so happy to see this improvement. This lot have already gone over the nitty gritty stuff-’

Stuff, he says. Like it’s not the very matter the competition runs on.

‘But whatever you are doing, whatever changes you’ve made, keep going because it appears to be doing the trick! I cannot wait to see where this goes.’

Alicia really, really hoped that her relief and her joy and her giddiness masked the tiny, tiny glimmer of smugness. 

***

When their names are called and their light stays white, that smugness has bowed out to relief and exited stage left. 

As they then both do, on gently quaking knees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Curse you rural internet speeds! I have been trying to upload this chapter for an hour and a half...
> 
> Again, this is un-beta-ed, so if you see any mistakes, please let me know.
> 
> Next time - an interlude.... oh mystery.


End file.
